Posts Tagged 'feelings'

When are we going to see again

by

 

Noel Ihebuzor

 

When are we going to see
she asked, her dreamy voice
dripping with desire
and he replied
his voice sober and still
When the sea sings
and seals swim rapids
in slow sweet sync
when the slowest miler
becomes the sweetest smiler
and the time keeper
beckons on Air clad snails
to breast the tape
for the diner of the famished to commence
Yes, when the sea ceases
her never ending swim
in circles of seamless curves
after mermaids hang their laundry on ropes in the sky
And the sky empties its
voice into the willing  sea
We shall see, and sing and swim

Bright Eyed Monks

By

Noel Ihebuzor

 

When monks develop blurred visions,

their world also narrows,

shrinking, thoughts wrinkle

faces furrow with frowns,

consciences sorrow

at the dimming of the eyes

at the fading of sight ‪https://twitter.com/Anabagail/status/737032387863928834 …

Lamentations

By

Noel A. Ihebuzor

We are the broken ones

ones about to be broken

about to break again

soft wood stuck

between hammer and anvil

Debris like cloud dust

from fleeing time now

float in our semi-circular

canals, our tympanic membranes

tampered, in shreds and tatters

Swirling dusts of rage,

coloured by clan and clime

by breed and creed

cloud our vision

we see hazy in the enveloping mist

where truth lies supine

and lies triumph

Wise counsel struggles for hearing

but is ignored, the midwife of truth

has been sacked, a vicious grip

holds the throat of the sooth saying parrot

and trampled truth struggles still to rise

Let Him and Her that hath even one ear

listen and hear

let even the blind

see and read these prophecies

scripted hazily on these patchy papyrus

with ink drawn from the veins of the dying

Let Her, let Him

even the clumsy with a broken tongue,

a struggling stammer

sign sing these messages

to a deaf world

For in hearing,

and heeding

in reading, decoding and recoding

in listening and speaking

lies escape, recovery and renewal

and new beginnings

May the bond

of the heart bound in hatred

be broken, shattered

scattered in the dust

let scattered hopes regroup

to oppose doom and destitution

and broken hearts begin to mend,

rebuild, re-bond and rebound,

binding all bile and bitterness

casting them to funeral pyres

of unending infernos

***Feeeling blue on a Friday and worrying about my country!

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

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.

Uncoupling

By Noel A. Ihebuzor

 

Remember,

When we signed and swore

to soar,

 

for better, for worse,

the moons have now since faded, dimmed

stars twinkle less bright,

 

on a sky blanketed by our  mutual misery

our nights now filled by this burgeoning void

that is us

 

the flames died slowly,

smoke filled our empty eyes, red blank

our tongues broken, wooden

our ears drowned by the din of our inner voices

 

And us two in tow,

now sour and bitter

bride and groom no more

rather through your assured lenses –

pride and groom,

through my lenses, clean and clear –

bride and gloom

 

We now dance to blame songs

two souls in discord

dancing to drumbeats of doom, singing

“your fault not mine, my love, your lust;

My trust, your rust;  my care, your tear”

we sing so well, nourished

by a slow low constant flame of pain
our emotions lame and crippled,
bitterness slowly freezing

frying our insides, as enlarging cold rage
fractures our world and hardens

borders and boundaries

 

We match and trade barbs of mutual hurt

And we march forward backwards,

bent and bitten,

weary and wary

on a broken road,

saddled, burdened

with loads and worries

not love, on our broken battered shoulders

and souls

The Call of Spring

By Noel Ihebuzor

In response to Susan Daniel’s here

 

at last

spring’s sprites arrive

the earth stirs, bodies heave to season humming

 

at last, at loving last

sleeping daffodils snap

to life to wave, to touch, beckon,

to stir spring worshippers

 

at last, at sweetly loving last,

the long waiting withheld voices

of people and poets spring to life

singing, celebrating, dancing to

this new external unfolding,

internals awakening to joyous stirrings

all the senses humming


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