Singing Love Birds

Birds we are,

high in the sky,

soaring and disjoint,

seperated by the sun,

who stands glorious amidst the clouds.

 

Our love is lost,

we wait and watch,

hoping for when the sea shall rekindle binding memories,

so we can fly once again to her heart wherein our love was born,

that we may mend our broken cord,

and become singing love birds once again.

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Yet Another Rainy Day

In the sky heaviness is born,
with a bright white flashing light arrives lightening,
and comes his lousy partner with a roar

The birds hear the rumble and fly,
not in search of food,
but to their nests,
to lay wait while rain falls.

The farmer wears a cheerful smile,
for another day of happiness has come upon his field.

Because it is yet another rainy day.

My Yum Yum Fulani Girl

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My beautiful Meruna,

She carries the view of sunset in her gorgeous light brown eyes.

She has a long neatly braided hair and dark mocha skin.

Her skinny upper body rests calmly on her shocking voluptuous hips.

When she walks, it’s graceful with the look of an ambitious woman.

She has distinct thin lips that taste sharp and sweet like orange.

The feel of her face is soft and fleshy like overripe mango.

And when she sleeps, she wears the innocent look of a baby.

She’s my black coffee

She’s my yum yum Fulani girl.

Time, Old and Young

Young he was,
energetic and strong,
working in the early hours of life
when brightness ruled
and “today” was the moment
while “tomorrow” lay far ahead in future’s yard.

But now “tomorrow” is the present,
and with gloominess comes it to stay.

The old is weak and feeble,
within eternal sleep’s grip he is
when the night is at it’s darkest
and close the day is to an end,
so another shall wake again.

For in this world,
everything except time is sane…

Voices

I speak of these voices of home,

Voices that guide and sustain my entirety

Voices that resonate in my dream

Voices that toughen and strengthen me in the face of despair

Voices that rekindle reassurance of success in the depth of failure’s ditch.

Voices that make me seal my mind against the negativity of those other low-toned malicious voices

Voices that make the sweet savour of joy soil my tongue in the heat of labour while the ground embraces the much sweat that flees my pained existence.

Voices that teach me to love, over and over again even when my heart darkens in bitterness.

Voices, whose conveyed words mix with the air I breath, soaking and filling every inch of me as I inhale to live once again.

Voices that sometime come to me in the ligtest of tones and while they may also come wearing reverberating thunderous tones.

Voices that whisper about their neglected historical being upon which blood has been spilled and lives lost, but still stand to put a smile on their laboured unity.

Voices that don’t judge me when shots of burning liquor plunge down my throat…just so I can have another moment, another away from worries

Voices that remind me of the outside recurring happiness, if only I look to appreciate

Voices that make me thirst for the beautiful moments of sunset and moonlight, of dark clouds accompanied by showers of rain.

Voices that cause my mind to romp while I peep out of the window of the danfo bus.

Voices that speak of tradition and respect, of purpose and excellence regardless of the current situation I’m nested in.

Voices that stir our thoughts towards the sweet home of originality while we reside in a foreign land’s comfort.

These are the voices of my mother,
Of the many tongues upon which my indigeneity was born.

A Curious Tale

30writers

#1

The very first post in this series is written by Adenike. Adenike is a writer who is “finding her voice.” She likes to write poems and occasionally, short stories. She writes to inspire and entertain. She blogs at denikhe.blogspot.com and can also be found at lucidlemons.com. You can also follow her on twitter @denikhe

In this powerful poem, Nike seeks to capture the abstract nature of the curious tale and country called Nigeria.

I hope you enjoy it as much as I did.

This is a curious tale of love

Of blood that birthed tears

Tears that washed hands

Tears that deceived you into thinking your hands were clean and you were pure

You who is listening to this tale

Hear, hear

Even if you do not need to listen

For this tale is the song that resonates in your heart

An ever present melody

A curious tale

This…

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Lost note #1

“Do we choose our destinies?
No!..I didn’t choose mine
But who is to blame,
For my coming to this world,
Is it the love that linked two chained slaves?
Or God himself,
For taking my choice from me..
Should I say hope is lost,
Cause in tears I serve,
While the sweet word “home” deserts our lips and fades from our minds

But I myself have never known home,
For in this foreign land I was born,
So I would say home is only a world of fantasy that exists in my mind and surfaces in my dreams.

Or should I call my parents cruel?
For bringing me into this world,
To toil hard for another man to feed,
While I’ve never gotten satisfaction from food.

Bids being placed on our heads,
Then transfer of ownership,
Of our own selves.
We’re just goods,
Worthless in their eyes in every way,
Except to serve.

But home doesn’t have to be the place where dwellers of the same tongue live, does it?
Home just has to be where peace lives…

Should I settle to this life,
What choice do I have?
Just another bitter slave,
Who is far away…
From home.”