Silver Linings-

Silver Linings-

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She wants to read about
romance, in an atmosphere
of scented roses. How to get the one
your eyes are set at; the heart’s
flutterings at the sound of a voice;
The thought of a face.

I want to write of sadness
and grief; the atmosphere of
grey clouds on a summer day. How
the mind works from the fateful day,
when the fruit of one’s womb,
Departs from earth.

I want to write about silver
linings after a stormy weather.
The ways of grief, and society’s
Alloted time stamp.
How a mind overwhelmed by
darkness, can survive another
sunrise and sunset.
I want to write about hope.

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Teach your sons-

Teach your sons-

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Teach your sons
To lower their gaze,
Teach your sons
To control their anger, 

The conversation
Has long been about females,
Teach your sons,
To value the girl-child.

Teach your sons,
Dressing is not an invite,
Teach your sons,
Catcalling’s not complimentary. 

For generations gone by,
Females have borne the burden,
Teach your sons,
A woman is not an “asset”. 

Teach your sons,
They’re humans not animals,
Fit to control emotions,
And not slaves to their hormones.

Teach your sons,
Respect is due to all lives.

 

Apology-

Apology-

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There are mornings
When my spirit is filled
With the songs of the
Mockingbirds… singing
Alive… in tune…
and i I am up for laughter,
Banter,
But,
There are mornings
When one word answers
Are all I can muster-
Yeah
Okay
Fine
Bye… but I really dont mean
Bye, more like an
I’m sorry it feels like the weight of the world is heavy upon my shoulders”;
It feels that way, and I want to unburden and say something nice, but I cant”.

Please understand,
I am still trying to get
My bearings and navigate
Both mornings.
I am still trying to understand me.

Depression knocked on my door (2)

Depression knocked on my door (2)

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I lied.
Depression didn’t knock on my door,
It opened it,
As it always did,
Without an express invitation.
Depression is not a guest,
It’s family,
Moving in at whims
Doesn’t take no for an answer,
Does as it pleases.

When the sun graces
The sky- with its presence
And I try to will myself
With coffee…
There depression is.
Standing, walking
Sitting, beside me.
Sipping from the same cup
As I,
Me…
Us.

Depression didn’t knock on my door,
It waltzed in.
But there are days,
When I can battle it enough,
Just enough- to go through
The day without crashing,
Enough to smile at strangers
Without faking,
Enough to go to work,
Without crying…
Somedays,
I can almost defeat it.
Almost.

This poem is in response to a previouse poem I had written a year ago: A conversation with depression. I had always wanted to write a part 2, and after taking this impromptu hiatu, I thought this would be the best start for me. I missed blogging and the entire community ❤️❤️❤️

Time after time-

Time after time-

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The first time was labelled a mistake,
The second- a slip of the fist;
The third time was claimed due to fatigue,
By the fourth, I was used to it.

The fifth time, I filled up a complaint,
But withdrew, only for a sixth to occur.
By the seventh- I wiped off the blood stain,
Cold packs and analgesics would do.

The eight time, I felt oh so grateful,
There were no blood, just minor bruises.
The ninth time, I looked at the mirror,
at a person, I no longer knew.

The 10th, the 11th, the 12th time-
And my memories can no longer count;
The first time, He labelled it a mistake,
And I was blind to see It was a choice.
A choice… not a slip of the fist.


Hello everyone, I would like to apologise for my absence. Currently writing my finals, finishing soon though. I wish I could write and post and read your works, but there is only 24 hours In a day and at this point, every minute counts…  will be back soon 

Writer’s Poem: Loneliness

Writer’s Poem: Loneliness

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Have you ever wished you could leave your loneliness behind and it would never catch up to you? I do understand, sometimes, it is one of those experiences which is part and parcel of life. But at times, loneliness stays for a longer time than it is wanted.

Loneliness is not spending the day all alone in your room. It creeps up on us and wraps it cold arms around us, regardless, if we are alone or in a crowd. No wonder, we sometimes wish we could leave it behind. Today’s poem by the phenomenal writer, Naomi Shihab Nye, touches on this same topic in a few lines. I hope you enjoy it.

The Rider by Naomi Shihab Nye
A boy told me
if he roller-skated fast enough
his loneliness couldn’t catch up to him,

the best reason I ever heard
for trying to be a champion.

What I wonder tonight
pedaling hard down King William Street
is if it translates to bicycles.

A victory! To leave your loneliness
panting behind you on some street corner
while you float free into a cloud of sudden azaleas,
pink petals that have never felt loneliness,
no matter how slowly they fell.

Half rebel/Half angel

Half rebel/Half angel

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What can I say about the woman,
Who grows younger with age;
And when she smiles,
It looks like the sun shines out from her face.

The woman, who
Struts the earth, like it’s her stage,
And it’s dwellers, her audience.
Whose voice carries an arid detachment
When necessary,
Yet holds within it- a sanctity which says
Okay- you got this- I am here for you,
When necessary.

What can I say about the woman-
Who is part storm, part rainbow,
Part rebel, part angel;
Part Iron, Part Honey
A woman who is everything
I hope to be.

All I want to say,
I cannot say…
About the woman who grows younger
With every passing day.

For so long-

For so long-

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We’ve been quiet for so long,
Swallowing our words,
Locking them with clenched teeth.
We bury the memories
(Try to anyway);
But they come roaring back,
Stronger, fiercer
Like the crashing waves at shore.

We’ve been quiet for so long,
Nodding our heads
With upturned lips, and our
Everything is great”
Remark.
Bound by fear,
Enslaved by memories.

We’ve been quiet for so long,
At the cost of our sanity;
You and me afraid to utter
Yes, it did happen to me.
we swallow our words,
lock them with clenched teeth,
At the expense of our sanity,
And what has that achieved?
We’ve been quiet for too long…

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

We are society-

We are society-

 

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We are society.
You, me, her, him.
We are the man with the gun
Bringing an end to another soul;
We are the man on the street,
With hands outstretched
Just one more meal.
We are the woman looking behind
In an empty street,
Hands trembling, praying
for a safe return home.
We are the man with the hoodie
And white powder in his pocket,
We are the kid with the money,
In exchange.

We are society:
You, me, her, him.
We bleed society.
We stain society.
We make society.
We blame society.
It is neither a wall, nor a street,
A road or a bottle.
Society is you and me.
Do you get what I’m saying?