Love of a special kind

Now I'm no romantic, ok maybe a little bit of a romantic. I like being treated nice like the next girl, being thought of as special. I like to think that a guy somewhere has me on his mind, thinking of ways to make me happy. I have been praying for quite sometime about who my life partner is and how we'll meet and what not and as the reality of it draws closer, I really realise how scared I am of making that commitment, of taking that step and shutting the door on life as I've always known it and open the door to a new life, a new philisophy.

I realise that I can't just say this is how I want my marriage to be and expect everything to fall in line. It is going to be meeting someone who's from a different background and lifestyle and together we lay our dreams down and work together towards us. In this, there's no me, just us. All my notions, beliefs etc have to aligned and adjusted and questioned and I have to answer questions like why,when and how.

I have to think realistically about the future, look at a man and really question if I want him to be the father of my children, the one I sleep next to at night, the one I make love with, look across the table when we're eating, grow old with, etc and it scares me crazy because whether I like it or not, I will have to make that decision and say 'yes, I will marry you' and 'I do'. this is some real scary stuff.

Then I went on Myne Whitman's blog to read whatever new stuff she's written and I came across the StoryCorps video and came across a real love story. I sat and wept like a child for some good minutes. I normally don't cry, but I did because I wondered if anyone would feel the same or something akin to the love between Danny and Annie, I wondered if I would be able to handle such a love and not feel overwhelmed or unworthy of such love. Then I calmed down.

Now, I am a praying woman but I've had to ask God how to pray for my partner, how to know he's the one that will be my shelter in life's storms, the one I can look at thirty years in and say without a doubt that given the chance I would do it earlier and again. I have asked God, I can't say I've gotten an answer yet but I'll keep looking to the skies, waiting for my answer. However, I've come to find out that it is true what the sages say; that love comes to you when you least expect it, when you're not looking, it tiptoes on you and taps you on the shoulder. Crazy thing but yes it is so true.

Please enjoy this video of Danny and Annie and may you find love that stays through the ages, a heart that holds you tight and calls you precious, arms that assure you that their main purpose from that moment on is to hold you, protect you and love you endlessly through time. God bless and take care.

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.

Nevermind

March is the month of moving on. Its the time to get into things and live, so many poems that will be on this month will be in that trend. Wishing you progress as you go on.


Nevermind


You stare down into your glass

Willing your stubborn tears could

Flow down, mingle with your wine

Brand you by one assured name:

A fool. As you watch my back leave

Held gently by arms which could

Have been yours.



I’m not looking back

There’s nothing to see, I am

Nestling in the rest of him who

Put me first. Why soil such clean

Ecstasy with reminders of how

I had to stand further back in line

Of your life, while you lived rapturously

Assuming I would always be on stand by

However...



When I stared into my glass of gloom

Another wiped my tears, whispered in

My ears, pulled me away to a place where

I always come first.


I wonder why I waited around so long

What exactly was it I was hoping for?

Today we meet again, when you

Realised I had left that stagnant line and

You suddenly realised you could have

Been the one, I nestled close to

With your sodden eyes, I am

Not enticed. Hope you enjoy your wine.

Eden- the continued story

These are more thoughts on the sides of love:

First published on the 17th of April 2010

This poem is put here at the request of my dear friend. It is a missing link in the 'Contrast of a Telling Heart' note.


Love like life is a gamble. The best we can hope for is to hold a good set of cards and play a good game.

God help us all.


Eden


I don’t know, how despite
the signs I married him.


Osa bo le gbe mi
Se mi bo se bami

His love is tight.

I stay here by decree

of his telling glance. His

warning touch of perceived endearment.

I daren’t move, gritted smiles.

Laughter torn from deep in my soul,

laughter,which follows the mandate:

Mirth or pain.


Osa bo le gbe mi
Se mi bo se bami

His love is hard.

His soft word placed in my twisted ear,

‘This hurts me more than you’

I’m a child, waiting certain punishment, then

the apologies flood my lap, as my

punisher blames regretful tears on me.

My fault for being not so right

‘See what I make him do?’

Osa bo le gbe mi
Se mi bo se bami


His love is deep.

Colours banned from my palette

Gold is sallow, silver is crass

The query of who’s mating dance I wish to attract

makes the peace of drabness comforting.

I am a bird of paradise made for one

garden, the flaming swords are for my protection.

Does it matter that my feathers droop and fall?

Osa bo le gbe mi
Se mi bo se bami


His love is constant.

Vows are taken seriously here,

there is only one god in this house and he's not above.

I walk and hear clinking gently

reminding me of no escape.

I am a gold-ringed prisoner.

This union is till death, accident-prone,

my sure feet unsteady, I will walk into

another doorknob, trip down another stair.

I am certain of this truth.


Osa bo le gbe mi
J’owo se mi bo se bami

His love will be death.

I don’t know, why despite
the signs I married him.

Contrast of A Telling Heart

There are so many sides to love, here are two ways I've explored. I'd love to hear your thoughts.

First published 29th March 2010


Many things happen in a girl's life and boy! Have I had my drama? I'm back to not sleeping again, as you can see by the time (please pray with me) not being able to eat and this is serious ( I mean I went to a £9 chinese buffett and I was looking at the food like schwepps, even though I was hungry fa!) so it is serious and just general fatigue (I've been in my 'Lord change my life for good' status for so long, I need a new song)

Well in all that jambolaya, I've been writing! (At least one thing stays constant!) And here are two poems. I wish to hear what you have to say about them. I performed them at the Tower of Babel organised by CAN but I can't seem to be able to upload the video. As soon as I can, I will. I also want to give a massive shout out to a friend and brother Lookman Sanusi-Thank you for the honest edit in The Recall. I am grateful that you don't look at my toes; I must learn to walk in sturdy shoes. Thank you.



The Recall


Iwo ko, emi ni
Emi ni, iwo ko
Iwo ni, mo ni, mo fe
Ni okan mi yan.


The recall of your skin

On my memory is loud.

I haven’t met you but

I see you.

The image of your eyes

Beckon me to pleasant dreams.

I don’t know you but

I see you. I see you so well.


Iwo ko, emi ni
Emi ni, iwo ko
Iwo ni, mo ni, mo fe
Ni okan mi yan.


Your lips caress the edge

Of my mind as I imagine

The ecstatic response my

Sighs will convey. Your hands

Teasing the secret thoughts in

dark recesses.

I’ve never touched you but

I feel you ease in, deep.


Iwo ko, emi ni
Emi ni, iwo ko
Iwo ni, mo ni, mo’fe
Ni okan mi yan.


In the muted lights of my desire

I will picture you as I deem fit

You will be my blaze of genius

I, your restless artist.

You will be

Known, seen

Touched, felt

Be.


Iwo ni, emi ko
Emi ko, iwo ni
Mo’ni, mo’fe, mo’yan
Ni okan mi yan.



Abuse


Just so you know...


Eti kan, Oju kan, Owo kan, Apa kan
Atori ta fina ‘yale, wa l’orule fun ‘yawo


He took me like pieces of barbecued beef

Slapped me within the thighs of his bread

Plunged his salami in.

Squeezed his mustard on my weakened, marinated flesh

Clamped me tight between his fleshy hands and bit.

I oozed, fought in rebellion

Toughened gristle hiding within his teeth to prove a point.

There are many ways to have a woman but

I’m not telling.


Eti kan, Oju kan, Owo kan, Apa kan
Atori ta fina ‘yale, wa l’orule fun ‘yawo


He took me like slivers of onion rings

Crushed me in the creases of his grater

Stirred his pickle in

Drizzled his olive oil on my roughened, coarse skin

I clumped together, denying him his desire

Maybe I would be left alone,

Surviving this night, escape perhaps, finding help

Tell all.


Eti kan, Oju kan, Owo kan, Apa kan
Atori ta fina ‘yale, wa l’orule fun ‘yawo

Whatever Love Is

Really...what's love got to do it? This is a question noone's really answered you know? I've heard so many definitions of relationships and one thing remains constant, especially those who have been married more than a year, 'its not about the emotion of love but the discipline'! This didn't make any sense at all initially but a friend kindly broke it down-it means all that mushy gushy thing you feel will not stand the test of farts, stretchmarks, flaccid "nkannkans",unreasonable behaviour, bad habits, hairy chins, skidmarks, body odour, mouth odour, receding hairlines,inappropriate scratching of intimate areas in public, picking the nose, sickness,disease (haba!), not in the mood, complete loss of libido, lack of money excetera, excetera.
What will stand is that two people like themselves enough to say through all the above and more, I have decided to stay by you, with you and love you.

Love is not soft, rose tinted and rainbow hued! It is hard, tough and constantly forgiving, it is graceful, humble and in many cases beyond belief. So I ask those who are 'celebrating' their love and valentine; really...what's love got to do with it?

First published on Wednesday, 19 November 2008


If- Tales of When Love Strikes- Sham Lyrics




The question has always been 'when love hits you what will you write?' I have had the good fortune to come close to the emotion, never been a true disciple, but a good acquintance.

I would like to believe that love and I have gone beyond mere shaking of hands and nodding across the street.

I think we have reached the stage where, we stop and say hello, give each other the outstanding penny at the check out point in the supermarket, we know the area where the other lives and stuff like that, we are not close but we're not far either.

So I give you these tales, tales of what I would write if love struck, I call them Sham Lyrics.



This thing is deep, rich

It makes like butter, warm places

Happy feelings joy and fear

At the same time, unequal measures

Smiling, fearing, it is all

Heady and I love it.



This thing is dark, light

It makes like red wine, chocolate

Those nice things that make you smile

And your pockets bleed

It is beautiful, radiant

Disturbing, cheesy

Not me, all of me.



It is a misty place

I am beckoned to its quiet edge.

There are no promises, no theatrics

Just a simple ‘come’

This invitation is potent

Enticing. I am of two minds yet

I find my toes tingling in eager

Response, gently levitating to follow.