Flying shadow

Black bird, d’you wanna fly?
D’you wanna take my blackness with you?
Would you rather take my darkness to the sky?
Or would you stay here too?

I’m caught in the midst of things I don’t wanna do,
Wings to fly I crave but don’t have,
I rend my clothes into halves,
And bare chested I stand in fear of you,

Lend me wings to fly,
No!
Take me with you to the sky,
No!
Heal my broken soul,
No!
Please make me whole,
No!

Flap flap flapped,
And off she went,
Flapped and leaving me a-trapped,
With my back bent,
And my soul sapped,

Black bird said no,
But at the horizon our shadows met,
And at the horizon my shadow flew.

Steven Kator

© 2018

S.H.E

Maya Angelou said she knew why the caged birds sang;
Well, I know something else,
I know why the virtuous woman remains a legend,
A fictional character of sorts,
She is the dream and goal of a young lady’s heart,
The epitome of indefatigable femininity,
We are told as soon we care to ask,
Yet she is trapped in the sands of history,

She is impeccable and all we must aspire to
And even before we start to allow our clay into the Potter’s wheel,
We know innately that we will never be her,
We will never be good or enough,
She is our adult version of Wonder Woman,
Good for stories and such….but only such,
Never moving beyond the Kodak pages of scripture,
That so perfectly capture her…

She is safe,
She is healed,
She is empowered,
She spells the word SHE,
And puts the definition in the word woman,
So she stays a legend,
We believe her to be with no knowledge of bitter or ugly,
She is eternally too good,
Not as soiled as we are…..

Now listen,
I come to dispel the faux,
That the virtuous woman is one with no past,
No scars and no torn dresses,
I write as one who was once like you,
And now is becoming She,

I dare to proclaim,
Little miss goody two shoes wasn’t always so little,
Her tush shoes weren’t always so good nor did she choose speech,
That sparkled with grace,
Her dress wasn’t always pristine nor her reputation divine,
Her hands were bloodied once,
Same blood cried out to God for justice,

And there were men buried deep in her scars,
The ones on her back and at the back of her mind,
Her innocence was raped off…by the clammy hands of life,
Call her Gomer, Tamar, Rahab or Mary….
She wears different faces in different places,
United in essence by the sameness of her struggles,

I hear she met Someone,
I hear Someone met her at the well,
Offered her water to quench the never ending inferno in her soul,
I hear Someone cast out her seven demons,
I hear she was bent over, broken and dying of silence,
Yes, the same Someone held her hand and commanded death to
‘ Loose her and let her go! ‘
And just like that,
This domitila from hell becomes the angel of proverbs 31.

I dare say she has a past,
Why else does she work so hard,
Funny thing is, she not trying to outrun it,
No,
She stands at her window on the wall, and waves a scarlet thread,
Her house is on the rock, the only unbroken part of the wall,
She runs to tell you to run,
Run!!!

Come, taste and see a Man who has told me all about myself,
Who evicted the demons and filled in my souls blank spaces,
And if only you drink of His water,
This need not be your present,
I need not be a legend….
Hear her voice echo over the horizon of history…..
‘You too can become S.H.E!!!’
Safe, Healed, Empowered,
Now ask me how,
My simple whisper….Jesus.

Chika Chikeka.
© 2018

THE ETHNIC WAR OF INNER VOICES WITHIN MAN

Hmmm…Have you walked down this lane?
The lane of the warring voices embedded in the mind?
Where voices rage war in the soft bones of your mind,
Over choices and decisions,
Voices sounding right under the spell of imaginative confusion,
Wrong when castrated of the spell,
Where reasoning becomes afraid to reason,
Cos even in the cause of reasoning choices coated in capsules of poison seize thy taste of choice,
Confused over nothing yet confused over everything,

Drowned in the ocean of counterfeited uncertified voices draining broken pieces of unfulfilled dreams sketched out,
These voices keep on speaking,
That the only surviving cartilage in the brain of my head has been ruptured
Unseen yet powerful and influential voices, trapped in myriads of scorn,
This is an inbuilt ethnic war,
Who can save me from this destiny device,
Where voices echo unraveled solutions and complicated ideas to same thing,
Which do my being become a slave to?

Rains of confusion has embarked on a rescue journey at the central park of my head,
Taking rest at the hallucinated desolate field of lost,
The sweet and gentle voice of procrastination has embalmed its statue in me and silenced my voice of reason placing it in the solitudinal grave of eternity,

I wear smiles wrinkled on the inside,
Spraying the perfume of faded smile to avoid panel of questioning,
Inner pimples has eaten deep my dimpled mind of rest,
Hiding under the cloaky face care of MARY KAY
To bring out the dimples amidst the pimpled troubled mind,

Which voice do I cling to?
The sugar coated diabetic voice or the fading- like silent voice embedded with thorns and water logged pathway to destiny,

OH!!! OH
War of voices within…
My soul has become aged at the peak of my youthful mind,
Let me think and make one… my permanent abode for a gloomy doom await the confused mind making choices,
Follow me on my journey but with cautioned silence.

Kanu Nonye

© 2018