Tag Archive | Poem

The whistles of a woman

The silence in her loud heart
Signals the strength she has
For when she has no option
But to forge ahead for all
Who have put her on that pedestal
The unsaid longings in her chest
Is the pain that seek to rapture
Her very essence and being
The bells of expectations
Are too loud for her gentle soul
And she is still drawn to the belief
That each bell deserves her attention



When we started I didn’t intend to commit
She was just a place of comfort for me
As soon as the soul found joy I had no need
for her and at first she was ok with that
But I kept coming back and she captured my soul
My relationship with words was supposed to be
Short-lived but how do you let go of a relationship
That keeps you sane and expresses your state of mind
More than your mouth will ever do
I am in love with words and I have made the decision

Daily Prompt: All or Nothing

All or Nothing?
“Perhaps when we find ourselves wanting everything, it is because we are dangerously close to wanting nothing.” — Sylvia Plath

Which do you find more dangerous: wanting nothing, or wanting everything?
I responded to todays daily prompt with a short poem below

You yes you
You feel bad for me because I want everything
But at least I want something and the world knows
You yes you
Don’t pity me because I crave for more than I should
At least my intentions are clear
But you yes you
What do you want?
Your intentions are not clear and you are invisible
Because you lack the strength to want something

Christmas is dead

Image found on google by Diane Pernet

Image by Diane Pernet

There was something magical about November leading up to December
I remember vividly how the earth smelled differently
The sounds of life was entirely different with the season
Kids seem to be perpetually running and excited
The earth is bursting with renewed energy and just for this period
We seem to genuinely care for each other
We could not wait for the harmattan to usher in Christmas
We dreaded the cold yet we liked the feeling
But alas Christmas is dead
Kids are not enthused about it anymore
The earth holds no special appeal
And December seem to tease us by dragging on
Christmas is dead and I am mourning for my unborn kids

I see you found your pen again

You sit and bleed words on a paper
Your pen painted beautiful pictures
We got used to the man behind the ink

Then she came and whisked you away
You were totally lost in her allure
You could not ignore the sun around her
The joy she brought killed your words
Happiness could not make your ink bleed

We found you dusting your desk the other day
You look at the empty space with nostalgia
As pen and paper sat waiting for their master
The pain she left in your heart needs a shrine
Were your hands will pay homage to LOVE

This poem was inspired by a friend (@phoenixgarincha) of mine who loves to write and after he did not write for several months he suddenly wrote a poem about the pain of loving. My friend if you see this give me a reply.

When nature is angry

When nature is angry

He sweeps across nations with ease

And pulls down everything within his reach

Trees are flung around like Chinese chopsticks


When nature is angry

He spits magma from the depth of

His stomach and cries in burning rage

He shows no mercy and is out for the kill


When nature is angry

He buries us in his deep belly

He offers no explanations than

the signs he sometimes offers


When nature is angry

We look on helplessly as we

Reminisce on our role which has helped

Create the deadly destruction we now see




Happiness opens the door and Creativity runs

I would not say I am sad at that point but it is more of not being excited

I feel down and that is when the wheels to my creativity start to move

My mind pushes everything out and takes me out on this amazing tour

There I am in touch with my inner thoughts and that is when I write

My emotions run wild and refuse to respect boundaries that are drawn

I churn out amazing writings that most people can relate to and like

It’s as if the doors are closed and creativity is in charge of my being

While happiness is out the door on vacation on her own without me


The door to my being is opened and in comes happiness twirling in

She cleans out the house and sends creativity packing its bags

I try so hard to make them live together under the same roof

But happiness will not have it and there is no compromise between them

Finally we have all decided that there is only room for one tenant at a time

So when happiness opens the door to my soul creativity runs out