Writer’s Poem: The past

Writer’s Poem: The past

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I came across a phenomenal African Poet today. Her poem was shared by “global citizen”. It fuelled my love of poetry, reminding me of the power poetry has to revolutionise the world. It reassure me that poets are here to make a statement, an impact and as a reminder. Especially, in places where oppression is rampant whether in visible or hidden forms.

I stalked the author and found that she has a blog here. Thank you very much Zuhuru Seng’enge for your poetry.

Do not fear the past by Zuhuru Seng’enge
Do not fear the past.
It is ugly
but it is ours,
Do not hold on to lies
That you were fed when you were young.
Learn the history of your people
Find the truth
to free your soul from evil
Learn the Qur-an
Learn the bible
Find the meaning of life and religion.
Do not fear the past.
It is painful
but it is real
Blood was spilt and people died
but love and unity had survived.
Learn the tongue of your ancestors
Reconnect with the roots of your blood
Find the knowledge
That was stolen
Find the life that was robbed from us.
Do not fear the past.
Embrace it
Let it teach you the wisdom of your race
Take its lessons and live by them
Own the identity that was erased.
Do not fear the past,
Do not hate it.
Do not fear the past,
Learn about it.
Let it teach you
Let it nurture you
Let it remind you, of who you are

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Black History-

Black History-

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The ship sailed their tanned bodies,
on a fateful day with promises,
filling the souls of young black
Men with:
dreams born of ignorance
dreams fuelled by innocence
dreams affirmed with words
which taste like honey,
mouthed by men who spoke
a fancy language.

The oceans witnessed the horrors
which men, inflicted
on another, without skipping a breath.
The promise land drew but
with no promises,
the Eden for the black man became,
A new wave of hell…

I am the descendant
of one such black man;
My soul is rooted
With black history:
We are not slaves who
gained our freedom;
We were free Men long before,
The chains found our wrists…

When Life Happens…

When Life Happens…

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There are some people in this world, who have learnt the art of living and loving the life they’ve been granted. They are masters in leaving yesterday in the sea of the past and welcoming each dawn with a brand new slate.
They have learnt that this world would break us if we let it, and they know how to traverse it with cracks. They know that love put into the world is never a loss.

Those are the people you meet at a bus station, in a plane; strangers meeting solely by fate. And when you come across one, you will know because they have mastered the art of spreading rainbows no matter the weather; and the sun rays they bring with their presence, last with you long after they are gone.
These people are the gems of the world.

 

Life with him-

Life with him-

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Living with him was like swimming in a shark infested ocean and coming out alive. The constant fear of wondering if I would ever make it to the shore; getting there and experiencing relief which lasts only for a few seconds, because I know. No doubt about it, the next day would bring with it, another date with the ocean. The fear, the apprehension and the cycle continues… That was life with him.

Don’t you dare tell me I should have tried harder. There are not many people who would survive a day and I did; I gave it seven years of my life which I can never get back. Was it patience or helplessness? Love or foolishness?

Facebook page: Words of a random

 

Stuck-

Stuck-

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The world has moved on,
But not me.
I still have the same dreams
I had as a teen,
The same visual,
Same people,
Same tears,
same anger.
The world has moved on,
Leaving behind- me.

It rained in April,
Now the weather is a haze;
The trees bloomed an olive green,
It’s November and they are bare.
The lonelies have found friends
The singles have found love,
The jobless are employed,
Leaving behind- me.

The world has moved on,
I am stuck in a scene,
I take two steps forward,
Then one step back in.

facebook: Words of a random

I hold within me-

I hold within me-

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I am-
All made up of,
the life I’ve left;
Every cell within me,
Tainted by the touch,
Of love,
Of loss,
Of words,
All past;
I thrive on the energy
Of things come,
Now gone.

It rests,
Within my shadow,
A reflection of the girl,
Not the one I was born as,
But the girl I’d grown into,
(Body and soul);
I hold within my shadow,
A past- I cannot,
Bury.

It is-
Right alongside me,
When the sun
Graces the sky,
Till the moon tires out,
Of the darkness,
It resides with me-
My past.

It is with me,
But it is not me,
It made me,
But I am not it.
I carry it,
It doesn’t carry me,
I am made of my past,
It doesn’t control me,
I hold it,
For, It was once
a part of-
Me.

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