Walls

I'm still under the rage of refusal. The refusal of rape, child abuse, violence , sexual brutality. So I'm still writing.


Walls


Many envy people who live in thick walled houses

I don’t.

My thin walls let in every bump, thump and rumbadum dump but

Its nosy vocals reassure me that if I can hear them,

So can they hear me.



I used to live in a thick walled house once

It was safe, private and filled with familiar voices.

Those times were different, where seeking arms

did not meet a surprised bed or

hard floor but a beating heart.



I remember, however, a little girl who lived behind thick walls.

Evil waited for her at the bottom steps under the very last

deck of floors and took her into the hollow,

covered her frightened lips and plunged.



Every time, her lips got less frightened and

opened in gaped resignation.

Evil took again and again; walls did not protect her.

They were too thick to let through the sound of her shocked heart.



Soon evil got bold and moved from under

the darkened steps and into her walls,

underneath a sister’s nose, who, instead of offering hopes of protection,

blackmailed for adolescent wiles.



So thin walls may be flimsy, exposing, nosy and

noisy, still, they suit me fine.

For in this noise and within these walls.

I find safety in every bump, thump and rambambam gump.

For if I can hear them, then surely, happily securely,

they can hear me.

Bow of Rayne

Why do women get hurt so bad? Especially by some man they know and usually trust? This is a question I have been asking for some time since I heard about trafficking and , rape and violence. And why is domestic violence called that? There's nothing domestic about violence. The word domestic means tame, homely, sheltered, so how can violence be domestic?
This poem is raw and written just as I feel it, I hardly ever write like this but I just couldn't help myself, it just poured out so it might need editing but for now. read and feel rage whenever you come across violence like this


Bow of Rayne

A woman was raped last night, her legs spread, her pride taken with gritted teeth, open moans and shuddering conquering thrusts. The walls echoed her shocked disbelieving groans as the growing rage in her bones bounced off the floor to collide with her skin as she lay open, spread, helpless


A million visions of a billion deaths, a thousand questions of how she could have found death like this; so brutal, intimate, violating and strange in something designed to be familiar in the hands of a man meant to be father, friend, protector, lover, him


Her bones ached to desert the body that helplessly got plundered endlessly for six minutes, wishing to be dancing in the moonlight again, in saffron robes, with purple weaves of a silky scarf, whispering love words to her intimate parts, setting fire to blood as they echo the constant refrain ‘I know you, I am you, I was born you’ but


The floorboards, instead weep a new tale of a raiding of treasures carried in a pouch behind a zip to be washed away, running into the sink like suds from a clean plate, but you and I know there is no cleanliness here


This raiding has taken innocence and her soul away in a plastic bag and dumped it on a highway, a river, leading surely to hell and as he shudders in accomplished ecstasy, withdraws, stands and closes the door behind him, trust has sounded the notes of betrayal, become fragile and broken apart , threads gossamer light and unreliable


The door closes, his arrogant release stinks up a maddening rage, terrifying in its whoosh, holding knives, guns, every form of protection to stop that which already has happened


And while this sofa daily takes the rock, rock of a damaged body, and hearts are ripped out and the telephone wires are cut, cut out questions, concerns. The storm of bewilderment gathers and pours forth like a single unending note of wailing, undiluted


Piercing the roof, scattering birds at perch till it reaches a sky that absorbs and says nothing back. Then it rains and she seeks punishment in every way , wishing a bigger, darker death but she never finds anything bigger and darker enough and grey clouds soak her with grief as she breaks anew daily hoping today is the day she dies


Nay, her eyes open again and men become ghostly shadows, evil and harmful and her purple gives way to black and brown and deep and gray and gray and gray again.



The walls spoke out this injustice and I cried out a stream to she who laid in the deep, wishing death of fathoms deep would consume in its visit. My tears reminded her somehow of saffron skies and purple hues, blues, greens and red. Red that invited her to be sexy again, to be woman, to be deep, rich and proud


To kick the arrogance in the nuts and enjoy its constant agony of eye watering crunch and pain. We know it would never be enough, yet somehow whatever way justice comes, it finds us dancing on rooftops saying love should not be thrown and sorry is a word we’ve provided exit for


In this dance, this place takes leg upon leg, swish upon swish and wraps it up in lavender, green so rich, it hurts and penetrates the womb planting a seed that beckons to the deep of what we are and will continue to be


We swell with righteous anger at this arrogance; shut the door on the thief who steals our souls in broad day while we sit. We clubber him jointly till he surrenders in pain and acceptance that these women shall not sit no more, we give birth to this rage that rips apart whoever, whatever threatens us ever again


No more will we sit and watch our beings be taken, be stolen and thrown away by word. No more will our worth be down-priced by slaps, punches and rape and by God, no more will we seek love from some clay feet god by way of sorrow or death


The house where rape happened has collapsed on itself; here it shall happen no more.

What Class of Citizen?

First published on the 14th of April 2007, it was an account of the humiliation I suffered at the French embassy in London when I was invited to participate at a Writer's Festival. The invitation was important in itself because a local Nigerian poet who apparently had made contributions to the community had unfortunately passed away and I was to do a form of eulogy.
To put it in sort form, my treatment at the embassy was shocking, the staff were rude and condesending. Despite all my papers and ticket being in good order, it was one random excuse after the other. Later the woman just came out with 'sorry we're not convinced about your class of  Nigerian citizenship'! Please what is that?!

Remember some time ago, I was so excited about going to France for a writing do and what not, well I can tell you, I've never had disappointment like that before. I went to the French embassy and for two long days, I was shunted from one red tape to the other, after numerous phone calls, explanations, etc, I got the message loud and clear, 'we don't want you in our country! Mainly because you're black and we do not believe that you are a writer. Besides what do you write that is so good, you've been invited to France for it?'


I tell you, I have never been so humiliated in my life, the people who invited me were so embarrassed but what could we do?

Taking from that, I think we all learnt something, for myself, that I must always remember, while away from home, I become a chameleon, my identity has changed, I'm no longer a female writer, I am a black female writer and in a lot of places that would always come first, for my inviters (I know, I couldn't just find the right word) there must be no naiveté about discrimination and no assumption that everything is straight forward because it isn't. I kept being asked 'why do you need a visa?' I wanted to scream!

But we are only beaten not down, many good things are happening and will continue to happen, we must just always, ALWAYS keep the faith and our heads up and high.

Ani-Valentine Angst

Written a long time ago (well in 2007) and the sentiment is still very much the same.

Twice I have tried to post a write up on Valentine on the system’s wiped them so no more, just enjoy!

Love is mush
Love is waiting by the telephone
For that elusive phone call
Praying that February is your month
And valentine your day
It is epileptic emotions run entirely by
Circumstances dictated by another
It is the eternal search for 'the one'
You are another's use.

Love is slavery
It is losing the power of self-control
Turning into a 'Yes dear, no dear, I only live to please dear' android
It is dreaming of being an equal
Yet becoming under, submerged by that desperate need
To be owned, to belong to another

Love is dominion
Enslaved with recycled cardboard chains
Shackled with roses
Kept sublime with wine and a little sex
Enough to keep pliant.

Love is boring
It is comfortable fat, sitting in front of the TV
watching another episode of 'East enders',
hoping your numbers come up in the Lottery,
disappointed
Having curry for dinner again
Trudging upstairs and falling into
Cuddle and sleep.

Love is bad
It is tears, called by many names
Heartbreak patched up with chocolate and untrue apologies
A wining, dining cyclone wiping out all that is real
Giving fairy tale settings that leave out the 'happy ever after'
A secret open yearn for a ring
To seal the destiny as lost.
Love is...bah!

Responses welcome-play nice!

Sleepless in Bolton

Right now, I’m operating from a place of pain. Its 6:41am and I went to bed at 3:26am, I don’t know exactly when I dropped off but I know I was tossing for a while. Every fourth day, I get to sleep for 8 hours depending someone doesn’t called me before 9am and from then on the hours shorten until the next fourth day. (God bless the makers of Cocodamol, Tramadol, codeine and a secret one I’ve promised my GP I’ll never tell nobody). However, these things give me sleep and then after that until relief, I have to fight an exhausted body but an alert mind.

I’m hot, itchy, and sore, crouching with intermittent bursts of pain, sweaty and miserable but my mind is so clear, it’s like a mirror and I’m just thinking things.
Today I go to Liverpool to visit my cousin in a hospice, he’s there receiving palliative care for cancer and I know a lot of people in their hearts have condemned him to death but I am a woman of faith and I know deep down, its not his time.

Therefore, I’m going to see him and encourage him to hold on and believe his body into health. I am a Christian and I make no bones about it and there many things my faith runs deep on but two stand firm. One of them is healing, the other forgiveness, them two are the hardest things for many minds to fathom and accept but I believe those two well.
In my personal life, I have believed God for some kind of healing or the other and He’s always come through and forgiveness! The liberty that gives. Its true that when you forgive people, no matter what they do, you become the free one.

Forgiveness is hard especially when abuse and death are involved but there’s just something about it that liberates. I don’t agree with forgetting though and I’m sorry (Bible buffers) but I haven’t seen anywhere it’s written ‘forget’. I think things must be remembered but not held in account for they make us who we are and its like saying, forget your history, it means we’re giving it a reason to happen again. So forgive, don’t forget but don’t hold in account.

I’ve been doing a lot of writing (hey when you can’t sleep and you’re getting angry, writing works wonders!) lyrics and tunes and I’ve got me a good man who listens to these things and converts them into something I might sell to y’all someday! (Do I hear a halleluyea!) Recently, (ok, last night) I wrote something of forgiveness. I’ll share that with y’all and then go do some laundry and vacuuming (that’s when its much of daylight, I don’t want angry neighbours) the words might not mean much and then again, they might. Well here goes.

Forgive

Pain is a hurtful phrase that comes
When somebody that you love
Takes advantage.

Hurt is a painful place that burns
When your heart is played upon
By the ones you love.

Inside, you just want to curl up, die
Hoping that tide will pass and you won’t have to matter
But its not going to go away today
Slowly but another day, so you
Have to stand and fight

For the one you love the most
The one your heart holds host
You fight for you
The one that makes your days just brighter
And you forgive.

Every little pain and hurt
They have somehow given birth
To the feeling that you’re feeling

But you stand and fight
For the one you love most
The one your heart holds host
You fight for you
Its hard I know but
You just forgive.

God bless and may you have a peaceful storm. Alafia.