It was true, the whispers I heard from the royal dead? Was such our fate and tale to tell—to be lost, faded, and refurbished by the hand of death, sutured to be torn again like the garments of the peasant’s closet?
If by one man’s stomach a generation will trust a tomb with their peace and innocence and prize their pearls for a swine, of what better voice will my feeble tongue spill in defence of a future bright and lovely?
At age twelve, she—my great, great grandmother—married a fifty year old on the warp and woof of a collateral her dad made. Of what crime did she plead guilty for? She being a lady?
Now, I am in the other world; betrothed to the silence therein. My kin labelled my death a natural phenomenon with the consultation of the gods(?) they sole believe in forgetting I was twelve like my great great grandmother—my womb unmature; my womanhood just as round as the pinky finger.
The heavens be the protector of the girl-child I left during labour. What will become of her? Will she be made to follow suit? I don’t think she will be safe there with these greedy stomachs we call men. Lord, please send a help to guide her, for I have left an angel in the dark.
I’m on my knees of guilt Lord. Ready to bring my confessions on board. Like drenching in the rain, I bathed in sin. I knew of the lustful unfolding scenes Nurtured in the setting of my prose, But with the friendship of corruptible different souls, I never cared. I just enjoyed its wages in beatitude. Lord, I need a detergent of salvation.
It’s not my will, Lord, To have walked the paths I did. Born in a pool of sin, I couldn’t stand like a rock, But before your altar do I kneel today. Take me not as the sacrifice for it. Instead, cleanse me with the hyssop Soaked with blood from the altar.
For the life I lived, The fear of you was a shrink of my will. Many a decade lost, I considered repentance as insanity, Sermons as a comic fantasy, And profanity; was a pot dish for my soul. Turn not thine mercies from me, Make the light of thine altar my guide, And instil the morals of BC’s Abraham in me.
Do this for me, And I’d be one more time, A lamp that burns for you. I’d scribble your words a thousand times Upon the tables of my heart. Your light will I not burn alone; Others will have theirs lit by me. Look not away from the frame of your child: Forgive me father for I have sinned
Love: a bonny symphonic orchestra. At least that was what we desired to be— Needing every excerpt in its extra, And sipping its resplendent creamy brie.
Perfection was the adage we aimed for. We’d praised its being with everything us Forgetting every titanic could tore. In love’s mirage, we rode on hatred bus.
Fairly, our stunning love was a puzzle; Riddle of transience’ daedal mystery. I wish’d I’d known its amazing dazzle, But we’d paled in the arms of history.
This is us; a story of searing pain, Yet, we know it was worthwhile—what a gain!
I’ll love a dance with you Under the moon, With your scarlet lips on mine, Your caress Slithering its tentacles on my body, And your waist swaying on my reverbs. I’ll love a dance with you Under the embers of the February’s moon. You, yes you, my bride and pride, Your dance, your waist beads, my joy.
Meat and fish, gizzard and croaker, All rolled into one steaming hot and large bowl of hunger as harsh as the sun in Sokoto, And lack that grips us as firmly as a vice as we sing in fuzzy voices: what shall we eat?
Rice and beans, egusi and fufu, We hope for some but are fed full of empty promises and malnourished dreams; We ask only that we be allowed a chance to live, But for that to happen: what shall we eat?
Bread and tea, yam and oil, The stomach wants what it wants, But breadwinners have won nothing for the past eleven months and counting. How we do we survive? What shall we eat?
Indomie and egg, macaroni and cheese, The prices of foodstuff are higher than Everest. Not that it helps but the biting reality of our crippled economy has forced us to slim-fit our stomachs. Yet the question still persists: what shall we eat? Salad and baked beans, pizza and chicken sauce, These are just fancy dreams, top-shelf ambitions. It is not good to give the children’s food to the dogs, But what happens when even the children have no food? Again we ask: what shall we eat?
Garri and groundnut, plantain and pepper stew, The cries of their fat belies in utter delight, Suffused with all manner of delicacies while we roll from one end of our mats to the other assailed by pangs of hunger. To these ones we ask: what shall we eat?
Eat to live or live to eat, It hardly makes a difference at this point, as we cringe at the belching of our bellies filled with hot air, And the sinking of our spirits in utter despair. We keep asking with no answer in view: what shall we eat?
It is beyond reprehensible that the supposed government of the people, by the people, for the people, has succeeded so spectacularly in failing us again and again. They enjoy three square meals a day; we can’t even get a square meal in three days. In our own father’s land: what shall we eat?
I dug till I met the crust of your smile And realized it wasn’t mine. You should have told me ‘Cos I’ve fallen so much that I can’t find my way home. Hey, you should have told me.
“I wish I could show you the way out, But I love you so much that My heart’s jungle wants you lost in it. Yes, the love you saw behind my smile wasn’t yours. I can’t hide that truth. I’ve been lingering around Believing he will return as promised, But he sent a matrimonial missive a year ago. I didn’t know how to recover Until you irrigated my tattered soil With the rains of your love. I’m forever yours.”
I lived the moment I died. I journeyed the moment I slept. I knew places my legs touched not. I drank the dew of the moons, I got lost in the open, And I fed from tables’ remnants
I used to be revered by million smiles To be held by pristine solace To be called honey. I used to be… Nothing more than this but I had parents.
They pledged to themselves seven lifetimes together, They pledged to themselves the golds of nirvana, They pledged to themselves forever and a day, But now, where are they? Unpledged, you guessed right. Such is life, uh yh.
I was parcelled like a pearl to a swine When I was ten (I’m a girl).
I dreamt of savoury appetencies, I dreamt of London bridge, I dreamt of fantasy’s reality While I dined with the rays of the sun. I dreamt of…Uhm… let’s just end here.
I died the moment I was born; I lived the moment I died,
But life itself is an antinomy Of what is unknown.
I wish to celebrate my dad. Sorry, cancel that line. I wish to celebrate my mum. Sorry, cancel that line as well.
How can I celebrate them When I have a fatherless child? (from a rape). It seems my destiny is intertwined with theirs. Should I leave my girl to follow suit?
If tears could only speak… Advise me ‘cos the pain I’m going through…
TurksonQuills 