Posted in Poetry

Honey, it’s heaven in my womb.

By 

Natasha Sebunya


Tears make their way through the passage carved by the loneliness that your sorry ass created
My irises burn open with the sting of regret
The salty taste bubbles through the vocal chord that had been silenced by your insensitivities
But then I hear the familiar thump that pounds in my chest
And hey, blood is still running through my veins, and air still fills my lungs
And I am reminded that I still live
Breathe- speak-beat-live
I almost drowned in a pity filled pool
Thank God I saw in it the reflection of that fool
She 5,3 drowning in tears for some fool
(who by the way is not even that big)
And I remembered
Knees-hands! crawl…left-right,march! One-two,fly!
Breathe-speak-beat-live
And I thought to myself;
There should be a license for the penis
Drive at 16, drink at 21, penis at 33
Some sort of a class where they are taught,
You opening my door, does not equate to me opening my legs
You can, and honey yes you may, buy me flowers, diamonds, a house, and some of you even the world
But mister! you can never afford my heart
My uterus is not for sale, baby not even for rent,
You have that weapon that sits between your legs, but remember I can make rise
And don’t you forget,
Honey, it’s heaven in my womb.

 

Another strong poem by Natasha Sebunya

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Posted in Poetry

A mine-field of an alcoholic’s ticking emotions

By

Natasha Sebunya
For her love is the unshed tear
The hushed cry of a strangled soul
As he strikes her
With the palm that once stroked her cheek
The mark of his, no their, wedding ring scarring her blush painted face
Her mascara veiled eyes clouded by the frozen pain of tears iced into anger
Search for their, no her, two year old son
As her decaying soul howls a lullaby in prayer
To the Jesus that is supposed to live in her so that
The blows of her husband’s blows do not wake her child
Happy –anniversary-
For once,
Their love was of passion
For love was loving and his love was her living
Their love was of moon-bathed nights
Little black dresses, rouge lips and coal-lined eyes
Her stiletto raised legs, planted onto virgin hips
As she was swayed by the rugged palm of her tall-dark-and handsome
For love was the promise strum
By that passion-driven scum
For his promise was of security, not this mine-field of an alcoholic’s ticking emotions.
Now her emotions hold her hostage to this monster, this phantom,
This parasite that nourishes on her insecurities.

 

***I met this young poet two days ago. She has just completed her IB exams and is waiting to proceed to university in September this year in the USA. Her poetry blew my mind. Here is one of her poems.

Posted in Uncategorized

Ogulani

FEATHERS PROJECT

By Nwachukwu Egbunike

 

The waves from the Niger sing

Flowing from deeps

To chants of dirges

For the fading of a prince

 

Hopping from Oke Ado

To the plains of Potiskun

Nkisi roars with pain

Ado N’Idu is inconsolable

 

The crimson cap

Carried on a royal cape

With beads of bronze

And twigs of valor

 

Peering into the future

Carrying the past

Curetting the present

Is the diviner’s feat

 

Though the garden

Bloomed once with promise

Blighted now with pestilence

The plough never paused

 

For in those veins

Pumped via valves

Flowed the sovereign blue

Polished with silvery hues

 

While others spoke

Words were made wise

Fitting of a sage

Flanging off aberrant fallacy

 

 

The flame tree

That illuminated

Without consuming

But cauterizing flippant fools

 

The imperious imposters

Impersonating jesters

Drumming thé dansant

Dregs of a desolate desert

 

Their…

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