New beginnings-

New beginnings-

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Today, my world
Begins anew,
My thoughts, are now
decipherable.

I gain, a break
From you today,
And all, that you have
Put me through.

Today, I rest
Your memories,
Your name erased-
I take up “Miss”.

You displayed love,
Through fear and fists,
Today, I embrace-
New beginnings.

Flash Fiction: Beneath the steel

Flash Fiction: Beneath the steel

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Doors were slammed, curtains drawn, babies were nestled to their mother’s bosoms. Mothers looked to their husbands for comforts whilst cradling their kids, and everyone held their breaths as the sound of tires, grazing the tarred ground filled the silence.
The motorcycle gang had arrived.

Their shouts could be heard from a distance as they ravaged the now empty street. But that day was different. Rather than peruse the streets and return to wherever they came from, the gang got down from their bikes- A first.

Another first was that one spoke; I never heard a more angry voice than that, sent chills down my spine.
“They were sick and tired of seeing the corpses of female babies. The infanticide was enough, and the parents of the next girl they see would wish they never saw the face of earth.”

And just as they came, they were gone. I was seven then and didn’t fully understand, but sure enough, there was a lot more girl naming ceremonies and pink baby showers from then on.


word count: 174. This story is in response to Flash Fiction For Aspiring Writers photo prompt challenge hosted by Priceless Joy. Each week we are provided with a picture and are to write a 75-175 story on it. Thank you @Sunayana for providing us with this week’s picture.

Am I a writer?

Am I a writer?

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Somedays, words flow from the tip of my fingers, sprouting springs whose waters seem to last forever. somedays, the pool dries up, leaving no trace behind ever, of the presence of water. And I wonder, am I writer?

Somedays, tears form lumps in my throat, stuck, at the tentacle of falling out, transforming into anger on pages. Somedays, they descend in torrential downpour forming cavities upon my face and dampening blank pages. And I stare at the glistening droplets, am I a writer?

Somedays, memories come knocking on the door of present. I hold the door open, only slightly, letting it walk in a sequential pattern, straight through the ink across paper. Somedays, they come knocking down my door, and my hands hang helpless to their force. They form muddles around my mind, and I wonder, can I be a writer?

Somedays I edit, most days I erase, on occasion I delete the words I had previously placed. Somedays it takes everything within to choose to write, somedays writing chooses me, like I’ve been doing it all my life- it seems. And I wonder, what It takes to stake a claim on being a writer? 

The above image is courtesy of The odyssey online.com

I understand…

I understand…

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I understand, trust me I do.
She didn’t just hurt you bad,
she took the one thing you finally had,
the courage to hand over-
your heart,
and she thwarted it.

I understand,
she swept the meaning of trust,
under the rug,
and your marriage,
was nothing-
more than a sham.

I understand
That when she gets mad,
she gets MAD;
and a man should not lay a hand,
on a woman.
And you felt the brute end of a
woman’s fury,
and I understand that,
most people,
Cannot grasp it-
Cause- you are a man.

I understand you’ve been hurt,
and I understand you are in pain,
I might not really understand the,
emotions you’ve been through,
but I do feel them- when you say it.

Look. Here. Now.
You’ve got me,
We’ve got our lives,
We’ve got a Lord to worship-
at the first string of light;
A kid who calls you daddy,
And sees you as his Knight;
And I know you do not see it,
So I need you to Understand;

I need you to not despair,
In the mercy of your Lord,
He got you out of the darkness،
Bestowed you, a whole new life;
I need you to understand,
We’ll make it- Cause baby steps;
Just do not give up on yourself.

Day 31: Dying Minute

Day 31: Dying Minute

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If ever a time comes when I know my end is inevitable, my time is limited and my moments left to witness are a handful, I want you all to know:

Your smile is the sight I want before me,
your hands entwined in mine at the last minute,
your presence the warmth I want to depart from.
Through you I came to this world,
by you I’d like to leave.

And I want You to know,
to be thrown high up from your weary arms,
set the foundation throughout my life-
you’d always be there to catch my fall,
The only man who’d never break my trust.

And I remember when
you were first brought to our home,
your first crawl, first walk,
first talk,
and oh how you talked from then on.
Your presence reenergised a dying lamp in my heart.
And don’t you ever forget,
you are the light of our home.

And oh, our struggles and battles,
our artless ways.
Spending summer days teaching
a girl the ways of ball games.
An older brother with a heart of gold,
You taught me to own wholeheartedly-
who I was.

Friends are the family we form through bonds other than blood. How lucky I am to have found both in one.


Day 31: LAST. And here we are finally, the last day of December poetry challenge. It’s been an amazing experience and thank you every single person who liked, commented and reblog. Words can’t do justice to how much I appreciate it especially after being away for a better part of this year. So thank you. 

The above picture is courtesy of Bill on Love this pic.com

Day 9: Close to her bosom

Day 9: Close to her bosom

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Some women hold stories,
Close to their bosom;
Stories so grave,
they believe,
It could cause a ripple effect,
And upturn the balance of life,
If repeated.
My mother- was one such.

She’d sigh at length and go off,
Staring,
Into space…
Oblivious to three munchkins,
laying on the ground,
Competing,
Who’s got,
The healthiest lung.

She’d go off sometimes,
At the sight-
Of a man in a red shirt,
Or a yell across the street,
Or something so little as,
An innocent question put forward,
By a kid.
My father would say-
Just let her be.

And so I grew older-
Mastered in the art of
Threading lightly;
Till my curiosity,
got the better of me;
And I questioned-
Why does she do that?

That summer morning,
I learnt of the horrors,
Of a young black girl,
Growing up with little to nothing,
At the edge of the sea;
Where being a dark skin,
had a price and being a female-
A burden.
And I knew why, she held those stories
Close to her bosom.


Prompts: Day 9 (a story), Day 10 (Summer). This poem is in response to December Poetry Challenge. 31 poems in 31 days.

the above picture is courtesy of Legend.az

The first decade of life-

The first decade of life-

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The first decade of life.
A kid- that’s what you’re called;
Hurried out of places, like
Mud stain on a white shirt-
Unwanted.

The first decade of life
Passes by with you watching,
Gazing across the adult table,
Wondering,
Dreaming about
when it’d be your turn
To, finally have a seat
At that-
Coveted place.

The first decade of life passes-
While the ladies drown their clothes
In assortments of perfume,
Plastering their faces
With talcum powder-
Eyes a different shade,
Lips a different colour,
And you wonder… Why?
It’s not even Halloween yet.

Then all too soon,
Years roll into decades,
You find yourself sitting at the adult table.
For how long?
You can’t even remember,
And all you really want-
Is that first decade of life… Back.

Day 1: First. This poem is in response to December poetry Challenge. 31 poems in 31 days (I hope I can make it.) 

The above image is courtesy of Pinterest

It’s been a while-

It’s been a while-

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It’s been a while,
I wrote about you,
Not for lack of-
Inspiration,
Right wordings,
Or motivation.

It’s been a while,
I dreamt about you,
Nights are long
And calm and peaceful,
Things i’ve missed, haunted-
By your dreams.

It’s been a while
I thought about you,
Time, they say
Heal wounds and memories
Fade away,
Though it’s been a struggle.

It’s been a while,
This much I can tell you,
The cuts you made
Are merely scars now,
And I wear them- around me
Like an armour.

It’s been only a while…
But I’m making it through.

P.S this is not a love/ breakup poem. Go figure 😉😉

the above image is courtesy of Clippings.me

Without him-

Without him-

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With him,
Life held meaning
With him,
Each day was a memory in the making
Without,
Life seems dreary;
Despite,
I’ve got to sail through the storms.

With him,
Joy was abound
With him,
Home was a person not place
Without,
Home’s just four walled;
Despite,
I’ve got to put on a strong face.

With him,
I was complete
Without,
There’s a bullet hole in my heart
Despite,
I’ve got to keep living;
With him,
I learnt dark will give way to light
Always… Eventually.

The above image is courtesy of Pinterest

Once upon a Journey-

Once upon a Journey-

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I once met a girl on a journey,
She told me she was tired.
This world had broken her will to live,
Long sleep- was what she desired.

12 year old, me could not understand,
Why sleep with so much to wake for?
The stars in itself kept me up at night,
In awe of their beauty and creation.

I was a kid, and she was a kid,
Two beings with different experience,
She wanted to sleep,
My own days were too short-
Our route had no intersection.

I once met a girl on a journey,
And she told me she was tired,
Now I wonder if maybe I’d shown her my life,
Her skies might be a bit clearer.

Years have gone by, since my encounter
And I hope her grey clouds have departed;
There’s a twinge in my heart,
When I think of the past,
And there was little I did to help her.

The beautiful image above is courtesy of This Site