Born To Gain or To Suffer

Grandmother! Our sage of our grandmother gathered us Beneath the big oak tree On a very beautiful night She began to sing: Born to gain or Born to suffer Born to gain or Born to suffer She began to utter to us: Great men are sons of good men Whose hearts are walls Weak men…

You Must Know

You must know As little girls, we write about the struggles of our mums We glorify their pain as borne out of resilience in duties never understood The choring, the caring, the back-from-work, good enough to keep her a mother As little boys, we wonder what could be wrong with the masculinity of our dads…

Child Not Bride

Under the silvery stare of the moon The children sat to listen to soul refreshing tales Beneath the starry blue skies, we laughed and galloped our ignorance of the world away It was in the nakedness of the breeze that I learned to smile my soul away And I enjoyed it A perfect peace But…

Dear African Woman

Dear African Woman If I haven’t told you that you are beautiful, you are If I haven’t told you that your smile is lovely, it is If I havent told you that your dark skin is more beautiful than the night sky, it is Dear African Woman Only you can understand what it means to…

Since you attended my funeral, I’ll also attend yours

Since you attended my funeral, I’ll also attend yours I’ll arrive just before the coffin Enters the church And join the line of weepers. Weepers, mind you, not mourners. Weeping is the physical evidence for facebook That people actually cared about you. But mourning… Mourning is the spiritual evidence That people actually cared about you….

I Love Home

For those people who find laughter Such company Laugh like they are falling apart Or coming loose With tears gliding down their cheeks And these days all this on A mobile phone. For laughter that soars Echoing in every nook For laughter sprayed On blossoming bushes For laughter that escapes out of caves Rising to…

This is not a feminist poem

This is not a feminist poem This is not contorted metaphors with neither punch line nor chorus This is not a feminist poem It is a woman learning to trade possessions before her lover takes his last breath. She will never get the chance to say goodbye because those final hours are one match-point away…

(Blue) for Sudan

(1) Clutched my heart a terrible invasive grief. One of my father’s calling my skin its own, as it shed cries of mercy. Of a divine pardon. Of an outpouring rahma* to reach the lives lost to the march. Mourning settled in the veins. Of a country that bled in each corner, wounded dreams of…

Dark Skin Blues

You said that I represented evil. The shadow of the night glistened on my skin. You blatantly associated me with tar because my melanin glowed under the sun. You said that my existence was a misrepresentation of beauty. So, you wrapped me under your arm like a clutch bag and led me through the dark…

The Ebony of Africa

There she stands like a eucalyptus Smiles but her inside is in solemnity In her, lives the sun that threatens the darkness Her teeth clarify the milk in the ajiu* The curves of her smiles So sharp to deforest ate a lad But deep in her Runs a river of turmoil Crucification is real She…