Mum’s The Word

As I looked up at the assailant
Tears freely flowing like water
With each thrust, he took a bit of my soul.
Something broke, shattered in me
Then he said, “Mum’s the word”

Looked at them, the ones who loved me,
I want to tell them everything I felt
But imagining the disappointment and shame I would bring,
I told myself, “Mum’s the word”

I looked down, this time I’m on top
My eyes dim, my soul dark
I did to another what was done to me
And I said, “Mum’s the word”

I looked down at the weapon
That would keep me forever mum
I sighed and wished
Wished I hadn’t kept mum…

Emenike Chinwendu Victoria
© 2020

Hope

Look through the pixel of faith
Cos light travels in this path
Live on and labour through
Make pictures amidst tears
Of unforgotten struggle and be happy
Dream amidst fears

Draw near the place where once you were redeemed
Relent not on the seasons that go by
Not on morning, noon and night
But give thanks always
For everything works together for good

Hold Love’s hand and don’t be in haste
Walk with Grace and don’t make a waste
For work without hope
Draws effort into a sieve
And hope without work cannot live

But to assure you..
There is hope in the hopelessness
Of HOPE – Hold Onto Purpose Eternally
That after To-day
There will always be a day..

Davidgospel
© 2020

In Sickness

You were supposed to have his back,
Be his anti-body in this sinful world,
He broke the tablets of our hearts,
When he left us for you,
You had him looking above this cloud,
This cloud of flaws hovering over humans,
You were his mentor; a star guiding him into this Perfect life,
A view obscured and inverted to our hearts,
But a clear and perfect reflection to him,

He never for once ignored your call,
Remember when he housed you with his sisters; Mary and Martha,
He never for once judged and questioned you,
But when he needed you,
You were far from home,
You could have used one of your tricks,
To race against time and space,
But you didn’t, instead, you chose your work over him,
I guess he was always a second choice,
A means to an end; the path to our hearts,

Four days! He has been dead,
This tomb now clothes his lifeless body,
The passage to the afterlife,
And here you come with your twelve,
Wearing sad faces and tears,
Like a kid who lost his candy,
If only the news of his sickness,
Had quickened your feet,
To behold your friend on his sickbed,
Maybe he would have seen another sunset,
Maybe I would have felt his lips on my forehead,
Maybe his Aunt would embraced his warmth one last time,
Just enough for us to bid him farewell,
But you abandoned him,
You broke your vows,
The communion of promises you both shared with one another,
Sleep on Lazarus,
Your friend, Jesus is here,
To say goodbye to his dear friend,
Whom in sickness, he abandoned!

Olaoye Adeleye
(C) 2020

Take My Hands Instead

One pill…
Two pills…
Three pills…
And another…take my hands.

Isn’t that a perfect metaphor for how you go bananas, dig your feet into those coloured clips, stain your teeth with the feel, stain your fill with the filth, and assume the other filths fade?

Isn’t that how it makes you feel? The peel? No?

Then talk to me.

I want to hear it…take my hands.

This time, get high on the drug of my attention, snort on my love and exhale passion, and if clasping my hands will help, take them, let the tension go.

At first I didn’t listen because I thought it wasn’t you speaking. Your liver called out to me, your lungs did too, your strained heart cried out to me, I heard a million tears fall from your triggered body.

I don’t know and I probably won’t understand you. But I know that nobody puts a gun at his throat and expects to survive.

Give me the gun, and take my hands.
Dear Amanda

Ice Nwa Ǹkwọ
D. Niel Quchi
© 2020

Rape Rep

I represent the biggest scums of the century.
I represent one of the greatest threats to women globally.

Your body is already a beautiful battlefield. A rose with thorns torn apart by it’s blueprint. It is not enough that your body cries rose-coloured tears monthly, some members of my gender have turned your pores into drawers for stashing away years of frustration. Tiny portals of escape, from which they seek prison-breakthroughs. Scofielding along your orchards, fuelled by animalistic passions.

Do something
That’s what I’m trying to say
Show me I am worth the pain, give me hope to a fault; tell me life has a meaning

That’s what I read in your diary
I am what you blame for dying, greet
One of the biggest
scum in existence
Women, they fear me
My favourite victims
…Men mostly in prison.
I am traumatizing

We’ve got a new brand for the parents
Comes with the power to pay rent
Found out I am recycling
Let’s leave the topic quietly
I’ve come from an old day
People started that way
Ignoring any volition
But theirs, until…

Ice Nwa Ǹkwọ
Niel Quchi
© 2020

Gods’ Of Match

We are a mix for many lands,
We are marching for very far;
In hearts, lips and hands
Our words are weapons of war
The light we walk in shines
Like sun, moon, and star.
Storm cannot shake nor stain
In forms that we are dreams retain;
The strength that makes us whole,
Is alive in us, our words fill every hole
Because the fire that moves is sovereign in our soul.
We are they that have to cope
With time till time retire;
Even though not are desire
For to us to live is Christ
And to die is gain.
We live in the world but heaven
We feed on tears and fire;
By inks, we give back our sheer desire.
We are gods of the match in this march
Generals of the church
This month no souls ever preyed upon
Our inks shall wander cold.

Davidgospel
© 2020

TALES

Tales,
Story!..story
By the hitting
Of the night’ light
On the sleeping-
Untroubled soil,
An assurance for another day,

Speaking
Of the hope
Of course unconcealed,
The elders’ failed,
god we call-falls on its slippery heels,
Codeines on a sleepy pills,
Given to these squanders
I mean-the poliTRICKians,
Paying you for our lives,
Edges up in the bigger-bitter collar
Which soon be tears-sucked,
We drink not
Water but crude oil
As species yet discovered,
Circumstance you wrought on us,

Though our waters contaminated,
We choose not to be
In all these,
Leaders of morrow
We live in are made!

Thank you!
Yours faithfully,
Tunde Michael

TM Sungs
©2019