Archive | October 2013

The crime scene

One look at him
And you know
You are looking
At a crime scene
The evidence is
Not far from the
Beaten down soul
The forensics show
The level of harm

Low on confidence
Eye contact cannot
Be upheld for long
His pitch is inaudible
And words fail him

After all these years
He has reexamined all
The evidence collected
And sentenced his fears
To eternal confinement
Now he walks a free man
He is his own among peers



Yes I contemplated suicide

The world as we know it has become a place where keeping up appearances is more important than anything else and we aim so much to fit in that we would literally sell our soul to the devil to achieve this. The result is a lot of people walking around with emptiness and a dark Cloud hovering over their very soul. Yet with all the smiles and laughter we see each day, lies lost souls walking around trying to pretend life is fine and they know how to handle it all.


Have you ever paused to ask yourself who you are? Ask yourself this simple question in all honesty and allow yourself to feel the response your emotions will bring you, you will be amazed at what you will find.  It is likely you will feel lost and not even know who you really are or what you stand for.  We walk around pretending we do not care what others think of us but all we actually do is to make decisions based on what others think of us. I always say most people who are quick to exclaim “I don’t care what people think of me” are actually crying out for help because they are tired of being concerned by what people think of them. I might be wrong but mostly that is the case.  


When people hear of others committing suicide the first reaction is shock and surprise because they usually think the person has got it all together but the truth is people who look strong on the outside are usually very emotionally weak.  This is the more reason why we should be careful what we say to people and how we treat others because that one hateful statement might just be the trigger that person needs to take their own life or that of another person.  


Those days when I hear of suicide, I think to myself it is the last thing on my mind and that there is nothing and I mean nothing that can make me think about suicide let alone going ahead to actually carry it out. Oh how wrong I was.  I just needed to think that to be tested on it.

It was just an ordinary day when all my problems started driving into my head one after the other and I felt so lost and empty.  I would usually talk to my mother but my mother makes it hard for me to tell her my problems because once I confide in her she starts to get worried about whatever it is that we have discussed and I see her hurting and sometimes crying on my behalf and I hate how that makes me feel so I usually don’t want to burden her with my problems. All I therefore did was to stay in my room and cry and overhyped my problems and made them bigger than they actually were and in my mind life was no longer worth living. I started thinking of ways to commit suicide. Nothing else mattered not even with all that I had achieved for myself because as a young lady I had actually done pretty well for myself and my family and extended family would always tell me that. For this dark period all that did not exist.

Suddenly it was no longer about me but my mother, I thought of how she would cope without me. She would cry her eye balls out and ache till she probably dies out of the pain and I could not let that happen. She had already endured so much in life and I didn’t want to add a lifetime of heartache to it. These thoughts snapped me back to reality and looking back I realized how trivial these problems were but at that time I could not really wrap my mind around that and see how it will all eventually work out.

Since that experience I have realized how fragile we can be and I have stopped judging people who commit suicide. You might think they are selfish and over pampered idiots but they are not because at that moment of weakness and agony, it was the only way out that was known to them.


To anybody who has ever contemplated suicide hold on and know that life has a way of sorting itself out or talk to somebody, pray, scream or do whatever it takes to get you back to your clarity.

And to all those who have lost loved ones to suicide, please forgive them and let go (not very easy I can imagine) because at that point it was the only way they knew how to stop their pain and as selfish as it may seem they actually did not want to burden you with their problems.


I Am a Poet After All

As a child growing up who could not express herself very much; I was an emotional time bomb walking around with a lot of unsaid things and the frequent tears and rolling on the floor in front of my grandmother just seeking attention did very little to cleanse my soul of all these emotional “demons”

Soon I would find myself hidden in places scribbling away on the bare floor. This took the form of writing meaningless things and sometimes drawing images I had no idea about, but I realized I was home. A calmness which was unexplainable would engulf me and all my “demons” will dissolve right before my eyes. My love of languages, reading, poetry and writing began here.

In school I had such confusion grasping any subject which involved numbers; my brain will simply shut down and refuse to function. This slowly turned into a sort of hatred for mathematics and its related siblings. This seem to have followed me into adulthood and I cannot memorize phone and car numbers   of even family and friends and counting of huge sums of money is a painful process for me till date.  

I have therefore developed so much passion for poetry over the years and having an awesome literature teacher during my senior high school days only helped in cementing my love for it.  During my freshman year in the university I went through a stressful phase with my literature courses because I had such a myopic outlook on literature but this soon gave way to curiosity and soon I was basking in the glory of Victorian, Shakespearean, Renaissance, Romanticism and Modern literature. I was fascinated and overwhelmed at the same time. The personal and emotional journey of some of these writers was identical to mind and I had found peace at last or so I thought.

Over the years I have written a lot of poetry and other forms of writings which I put away and totally forgot about because of the stress that came with having a job. A friend who always knew I loved to write advised me to start a blog which I did and soon I was inspired to write again. I write about a lot of issues on my blog but my poetry always stood out and fascinated people who visited my blog.  

For some strange reasons I was always uncomfortable about calling myself or having people call me a poet. I always thought to myself that I was not worthy of the title. I had this strong conviction that I had to impact the world of poetry or write such classic and ground breaking poetry to be called a poet. I felt I would be cheating renowned poet such as Maya Angelou, Emily Dickinson, Wole Soyinka, Kofi Awoonor and the likes if I called myself a poet.  Apart from friends and other bloggers who read my poems, who knew or have head of me?  I felt I was unworthy of the title. The confusion continued until I decided to find out; who is a POET?

This is the definition that greeted me several times: “A poet is a person who writes poetry”. I paused for several minutes and sighed, so I am a poet after all. From this point on I felt a little less guilty when I call myself a poet. I also came across a definition of a poet by a French poet known as Arthur Rimbaud, he summarized it as follows:  

A poet makes himself a visionary through a long, boundless, and systematized disorganization of all the senses. All forms of love, of suffering, of madness; he searches himself; he exhausts within himself all poisons, and preserves their quintessence’s. Unspeakable torment, where he will need the greatest faith, a superhuman strength, where he becomes all men: the great invalid, the great criminal, the great accursed—and the Supreme Scientist! For he attains the unknown! Because he has cultivated his soul, already rich, more than anyone! He attains the unknown, and, if demented, he finally loses the understanding of his visions; he will at least have seen them! So what if he is destroyed in his ecstatic flight through things unheard of, unnamable: other horrible workers will come; they will begin at the horizons where the first one has fallen!”

For me this was it, this was a definition I could relate to and this is true of most poets. We are on this intense journey full of love, suffering, madness and torment. We take on so many personas so we can speak on their behalf.  And on this journey we crush and burn but unlike the phoenix we are not reborn for it ends right there and other poets will come and begin at the horizon where we left off.

Yes I am not famous; yes I have not written ground breaking poems but I am a poet after all.    




I am under construction

Through the struggles of life and finding self

 Lost in the abyss and complexity of life’s ocean

The flaws of humanity seeks to drown existence


          I am under construction


The reflection of perfection is non-existent   

Imperfections seek the renovator of the soul  

Shattered but not beyond life’s redemption    


         I am under construction


In all the confusion the world is submerged in 

I add my flaws and emotions to create more

But this breakdown will not outlast my soul


          I am under construction

The War Within

I am first on the battlefield    

Keen to eliminate the enemy  

My sword drawn and ready

I am filled with fury and ache


I am tired of waiting to conquer

The enemy never shows up

But I aim my sword anyway

For I know from where he comes


In the midst of the confusion

I gouged my opponent’s heart

And drained my own life out

There is no enemy after all


The storm is raging within me

It is the war within my soul

I fight myself ruthlessly   

And leave my body with no soul


Those eyes soon gather the storm in their core

Dark clouds make their way across the skies

 He gathers momentum slowly and leisurely

His deception sweeps across the heart and soul

Like a whirlwind his focus is unknown and brief

And he leaves destruction in his chaotic wake  

Scarred emotions and bruised egos remain