Author: Doebi

Adaobi Chiemelu is a mathematician and a poet. She is loved by God real good. She shows this love by counting her blessings and writing her testimony, among other things. Utochukwu is a name she calls herself, meaning God's delight.

Running Back Home

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Hey Daddy,

Something I have to tell you

When I was in school I did something you said I shouldn’t do
I dated someone and his name was Curious
Curious was mad and I wanted to be mad with him
But on the road I missed my way to madness and he left me behind
Now I’ve come running back home to you.
Daddy, I’m running back home to you.

Adaobi Chiemelu
© 2019

Barren Mother

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I have an empty well of a belly.
My womb has known nothing but dying blood all my living years.
I have thought of no one but myself,
Fed no one but myself,
Placed no one before myself,
How do I have a womb except it was made to bear another, and yet
I have no idea what it means to pour a part of myself into another.
“A breast feeding mother?”
That’s a foreign name to me.
“A bread winning father?”
Who dares call me?
I am my own hero,
My own salt,
My own light in a shady place,
Come with me and I’ll lead you into the darkness.
I’d snuff the life out of my light because I do not want to share it.
I’m an evil already happening,
A menace waiting to be uncovered.
My tactics are new everyday
Yet my mind is old.
I am a dirty, dirty soul with a clogged up heart and a rigid body.

This is why I have come before the Rock of Ages,
Before The fire that purifies without consuming to ashes.
My tears produce more salt now than I have ever thought to produce.
I do not know when I ever took lessons from the ocean
But my ill will like waves come crushing over me.
I am caught up in my own dirt web,
Spun in my own fear.
I have come to you as a barren womb in need for a child.
I was born to be mother, now may I know a child?
I have come as a fruitless tree in its season.
As hungry fire,
I’m desperate.
As a docile branch,
I submit.
I accept defeat.
Let your rains fall on this arid land again, Lord.
I admit nothing was ever my own;
As I am left with nothing now I am reminded where I come from.
Give me one child, Yahweh ‘tis All I ask.
Surprise the quick-to-conclude with Your quick-to-deliver.
Let them know when their calling-me-barren tongues call me mother,
Let them know from every side of the flipping coin earth,
That You make the Barren Mother.

Adaobi Chiemelu
(c) 2018

Saved

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I like that you wear clothes that keep you warm.
They keep you warm enough so that I can hold you in my arms.
If they didn’t and you were cold I would be afraid I may smother you.
In my struggle to keep you warm and breathing I may smother you to death as cold as itself. It would be a shame. I’m sorry. But I cannot bear to hold you in my arms when you are cold cause I cannot.
If I tried I would override you.
My feet would stretch over your cold feet stroking it so that it yields. I may strike it off totally, knocking your bones off structure. And my arms over yours in a bid to keep them from being cold I wouldn’t stop wiping or swiping until I would have swiped their very skin off. No one would laugh at the funny bones cause they would be dreadful to look at. I’m not kidding.

Your face. My hands wouldn’t stop. In a bid to save it from the cold I’d rub and scratch. Ridding it of every make up or DNA matches. Your chest would be so cold I would stump on it. I wouldn’t take it. Your tommy I would try to fold it to keep it as warm as possible but no I would be tearing it apart. Your back I would try to keep it warm but it would prove too hard I would break it. I would rip you apart. I would reach for your cold, crusted lips. Try to bring it back to life, saliva for saliva, tooth for tooth. I would sweat. But you wouldn’t yield. My want would have drowned you. Stripped you…

I’m glad you wear clothes and they keep you warm. Warm enough for me to hold you in my arms. I love you. And I wouldn’t want to hurt you more than I would want anything else for you. I care that much that’s why I recommend them for you. You may not trust it much but then you would never know how cold you would have been without them. Cause you would be alive, warm and breathing so much so you wouldn’t know what it felt like to be cold. Clothed in your own beliefs, your own defense of yourself, your own pov, everything wears warm about you, from your thoughts on your sleeves down to the socks of articulate speech wrapping the ankles of your feet. And if your body is a house, you’re house warming until your fans have blown the skin of your face such that your lips react by spreading upward on your face like an omelette cooking in a pan.

I like that you wear clothes. They keep you warm and comfortable. I like that because that way, you can smile. But if you were cold, I’d never have access to your mind no matter how hard I scratched. I know that so I’m really glad you wear clothes. I am. Because now I can really hold you without the fear of losing you when what I really want is to keep you.
Signed
Jehovah.

(Let Jesus be the clothes, let the warmth be the love shed abroad our hearts. Rom 5:1-5)

Adaobi

(c) 2018

O fish alley

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I’m officially capped to do this.
Okay. Here’s the thing. You have to promise me something. Three things, four.
You know this is freestyle Friday so yea…
First permit us in this alley. We know fishing is not allowed but common our bait are for words. The hooks held by our fishermen are made of ink. We fetch our words from peace like from a river overflowing so we can catch men by the pull.

Next give us an audience. We need an audience to be caught by our wide nets weaved of words and punctuations to mark a good start with our fishing business.
We heard there are ghosts in your alley. Some have even nicknamed it the haunted alley. We understand that’s a legit reason for the ban but do let us face our fears ourselves. If we call ourselves fisher men give us the benefits of being adequately clad for the job.

And finally, don’t leave us your equipment. If they worked in ghost proofing the area it wouldn’t still be haunted would it? We have come from a dimension of torch lights that spell victory with the name of the Christ. And from this watch tower, Life is not too good to be true, it is true.

Adaobi

(c) 2018