Poverty a Dictator

They embraced civilization

But cannot afford education

Though not primitives in orientation

Poverty made sluggish their progression

Desired heirs to be literate

Poverty aborted their dreams

Yearned to go to clinics

But cannot afford

Dreams became mirage

Hopes of poverty jettisoned

Reduced the brave to cowards

Mockery it made of all

My Crown

A sore on a tender skin
A scar that will forever be
Trusted by one and by all
Yet you catered away my innocence
A deposit of eternal wickedness

A child i am taught to be
But i have eaten of the adult’s meal
Supposed to be served with a wedding ring
Yet u have stuffed me without berthing an eye lid
Now am constipated with troubles of obesity
I crave for a purging internally

Who do i hate more?
The one that served it
Or the one that ate it?
Torn apart i am within
Inside me is a world in ruins
You have stolen the crown of the bride

The crown stolen cannot be replaced
Nor can it be glued together
Wrapped in stained scarlet robe
In guilt and despair
Shattered are my hopes of tomorrow
Where does one go from here?

FLIPPING THROUGH THE PAGES OF THE HEART.

Can one’s heart have pages? Some people will answer with a capitalized no.

But I will just say yes, the heart does have pages. Our experiences, our hurts and ecstasy, the various trails we face, challenges, breakthroughs that influence our decisions and affect our life’s every day.

As one experience ends another begins, some simply call it the phases of life but I will say pages of the heart. If a writer is to write an autobiography of himself he puts together his life experiences and translates them into readable stories page by page capturing the heart of every reader by relating his life in words.

  I took a trip into the mind of one lady, an accountant by profession. Outwardly she was breath taking, a perfect definition of prim and proper. From head to toe she was beautiful, perfectly sculptured by the master.

  She was simply a chic, confident stride, a beautiful body and a breath- taking smile.  She was the definition of beauty and brain. If only one knew the weight she carried on her inside. The scars of old, the disgrace and shame that filled her bowel can be likened to a soiled lavatory.

 Is this life, or are these just the pages of her heart? People just say life is brutal based on stories they have heard and maybe experiences of close ones. But it is difficult when those experiences are actually yours. Those experiences you will normally say ‘God forbid’ as response on hearing. 

I have had my fair share of challenges, but what can be said to a young beautiful girl who lost her virginity to hoodlums. This pain was also accompanied by an unwanted baby and HIV.

It is one thing to lose your virginity, but an unwanted baby and a terminal disease is a wound that might take forever to heal. These are the pages of her heart what is yours?

 Where does she go from here, to her parents or fiancée or to the Lord? Can she stop these pages because they are not pleasant? Some occurrence shape people’s destiny negatively or positively it is our choice to decide.

 A little boy once said “mummy I can choose to do whatever I want after all it’s my life”. Though these are the words of a little boy, it is the hard truth we must all bring ourselves to face!           

Me

There is a battle i have to fight

Through the cold, the stormy night

When it is hard to see who we are

When in the mirror we stare

The pressures of life have taken me from me

No i live with a borrowed identity

Who i am i do not know

So the giant in me may never show

They play the music to time dance

Their lives i live, a live long trance

I crave to dance a faster one

But labelled i am, the evil one

That i may live my life pure and whole

I look in the mirror them i see

A sea of faces of monotonous beings

With cosmetics they made me up

That we are all the same like a sea of skills

Watch the powder, pull the veil

Let me see who i am still

I love the look of an ugly me

Than the look of somebody’s me

Swollen eyes and face
Almost blurred with tears
This shadow must stay behind
With arms high into the sky
Stretching forth for tomorrow
Holding on an anchor
As I flow into a new dream
Raising this head above the cloud
Hearing behind the shadow
As i am buried into the grave
The black yesterday