Rivalry- a poem of taste

Image result for kissing evil abstract in black and white

Picture gotten from- Pinterest

Have you consoled your embroidery?

your interwoven sleeves carved from healing smites?

Mother of souls.

Mother of colds with cursed sores.

You remind me of moon tales,

skipping bad omens for good fortune.

 

Oh buttercup!

Save these little fingers for one itch.

Bring men that think like goldsmiths,

black and beaten, chosen by water.

We can twist the tongue in spirals,

our food still wouldn’t know it’s born yet.

 

Let me tell you about noise-

Early mornings are for early mournings.

I’ve heard women say this

“visit me in places that make me scream”

another way to lure gardens to a shore.

…breathing heavily in silence.

 

I am

a taste of my own sin,

a dying flesh with wages sold as the moon rises.

I am

an in-betweener of stolen air,

in rivalry with my own mouth.

 

 

 

 

Dyna Ekwueme Copyright, 2017.

 

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Frightening the challenges that come with tomorrow

For Millennials-

 

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Picture gotten from-Camilleabrown

We will all grow to a point where we learn not to lie against ourselves, where we will all outgrow our humble beginnings. We will reach a point of satiety in our lives one way or the other, where we fear less about what we used to hesitate to question. Growing out of reach and building with both whole and broken pieces.

As we grow (not age), the descendants of unclarity begin to die out. Purpose becomes priority and questions you find yourself often asking begin to get answered by your motives, time input and resources available to you. Sometimes the cost will be tied to falling out with certain herds, sometimes the cost may fall to alone times you spend reflecting and sometimes it may even cost you losing yourself in the process. How you make your journey and the most you make out of it depends on your plans, ties and decisions. Being tenacious may become somewhat necessary in times openness is as well. The thirst for pride, ego and attention will kick in every now and then. You trust less, you create more and you begin to despise healthy criticism, which is all human nature.

However, curbing and managing attributes that are distasteful to your growing process allows for maximum control of your potential. It puts you in a place where you regard everyone as equal, a place where you can welcome respect as you give it.

You are in charge of your life. You are the key to every problem you are facing even if those problems are triggered and caused by people. The moment you realize how important you are to your own journey, the more time you invest in your growth allowing others identify with and fall into your space (the right people of course). No matter how many promises you’ve made for tomorrow, tomorrow doesn’t know that. Tomorrow promises nothing and at the same time allows you make it everything you can with its sweet and bitter nature. Tomorrow allows and warns you to prepare and that’s why working on self is crucial.

Think about it like this, if all conditions are met with you (i.e you’ve grown ready for tomorrow), the challenges that come with tomorrow wouldn’t frighten you even if it may break or make you.

Learn to invest your energy in positive attributes necessary to withstand the tomorrow you don’t know.

 

Dyna Ekwueme Copyright, 2017.

Sedative sentiments

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Picture gotten from-Jannaleadams

Let’s awaken the grieve of Joy,

the little laughs with babies, foe and your toy.

We can be generous with words,

writing with rhymes against all odds.

 

Here’s my token of wealth,

here’s love, happiness and my skin the way it’s felt.

Could I wander in your tones of delight?

your selfish looks and chin that will drop in my plight?

 

I want us to write in this kind of poems,

send love and hopefully one day, we make them under these elms.

We are both heavy with choice, the one to receive, the one to send.

I don’t want this fate, this rush nor this blush to end.

 

We will chase these little ones soon,

in cloudy, rainy and sunny days and bloom.

We will hold hands with peace, with soul and a dance.

I wish these all, in words would be our chance.

Dyna Ekwueme Copyright, 2017

For millennials: 21

 

Journaling

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There is no warmth in waiting for the right time. The patience will sting harder than the truth you believe about holding on.

Misery becomes more appealing.

“may you be defined by your boldness in running through dry and dark cracks.”

I’d get into the bus sometimes, most times with my headphones banging loud music out its tiny speakers.

Sitting by windows is my favourite thing. My eyes get to count coloured and grey houses, watch trees and many other greens. I often begin to play rhythmic music in a lowered volume to feel the same feeling I get when watching good scenery movies. I deviate into solitude and just observe.

It is powerful.

The only regular thought I’ve known is home, it’s sometimes with me and other times I fear to think of its broken tone.

I’ve watched myself grow with strangers that I call friends. I’ve been shaken by subtle disagreements imposed by the universe in openness.

I seldom believe we are all here, just making history and not living well enough. We will all die surviving with or without purpose.

“In love, the purest of our souls’ manifest.

In love, we succumb to humility and fear without coercion.

In love, we tell our stories in ways we wish they existed.”

Can you read the signs through my saggy eye bags?

I’m knackered by pressure from my wants and the wants I’m expected to want.

I heard mum’s voice on WhatsApp call and she sounded like 50 hasn’t been good to her. I’ve been thinking of her in a sweet way lately. In a way I would spoil her with happier days if she were here.

“Be generous and kind with what you bear to instil

I’m one and a half page of an A4 gone and I’m still wasting words on consciousness. This is what it feels like to fight forces that you never chose, fighting constantly.

You will live, you will live

You will write, you will write

You will love, you will love

You will break, you will break

You will heal, you will heal

You will die again and again before you learn to live to die.

“Be offended by your zeal to live because thinking of your death will remind you of here always”

 

Dyna Ekwueme Copyright, 2017.

Nwoke’m

Do you ever listen to your own repetitive connections at 03:00 am too?

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Picture gotten from-Pininterest

I’m starting to think imaginations are art. I’m starting to love the entangling emotions built from it. How strangely I could be fluid and solid like an umelted candle at the same time. I’m starting to feel all the same.

Yesterday, I thought. The day before I did too and many days and months before then again, I’ve been thinking. How would someone like you meet me? Would it be spontaneous, would be soft or angry? Would it be in a crowded room or when I’m by myself. That’s the scary part of thinking. I don’t want to be ready. I want to be with myself in full, in love, vulnerable and loud. I want us to meet unforced just like the universe has been with me lately. No mind games, no holding back. I like the modern approach, the evolution of it all. Descriptive dialogues and unending gist of our taste in music, books, movies and other people, what we worry about when it gets dark. Tell me where else you would be when you’re not with me.

Nwoke’m

When you’re here, your past is. The darkness of it won’t scare my love, I pray. The time you choose to be weak, I’ll be strong, I pray. The time you’d change, I’d learn to adapt, I pray. These are not my affirmations, they are hopefully who I’ll grow to be for me and for you until that “someday”. I believe our feet have come across same footpaths more than twice, I believe time is keeping you for magic. You are a future to wait for.

Keep yourself for me.

Nwoke’m (Igbo translation for “my man”)

Dyna Ekwueme Copyright, 2017.

Happy women’s Day

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Picture gotten from-Figurative art

To be here, to join hands and to murmur what it’s like to feel this way. To feel like a woman that I didn’t choose to be but of the nature that chose me.

Here is to all the days and all the nights I stay with me, with womanhood thinking of how big of a smile I should give the next day even whilst groaning in pain. Here’s for now, where neglect and responsibility will cut through deep layers of my skin, yet I’ll stand and be silent of it all. I wish to celebrate everyday for the rest of my life women whose existence have hurt and broken them in ways that can’t be told or written, yet love is all they give.

To women of all colours and roles in life, you are a bold statue that can’t be washed away by lingering figures. You are waterproof and transparent amidst where you think you’ve been. You are still a rose to be admired by men that stand with you. You are deserving of all favours you’ve been turned down. You are all this because you are a woman.

The universe will make love to you in good timing, woman. we will all celebrate the joy and pride of being a woman with you because you are valuable and valid.

I hope you take care of yourself everyday for the rest of your days here. Happy WOMEN’S DAY!

Dyna Ekwueme Copyright, 2016.

On ageing

In my thoughts, in my head, in my journal. Here.

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Win your battle before you come home to mine.

Don’t remind me the trails of footsteps I face everyday.

It’s not enough to live young, wild and free because I know of places that don’t bring me such experiences.

Hold onto the existence, let what you have to say complement mine. Let what you have to give add up.

Don’t scare me with silence. Don’t tell me I’m too young to learn what grey hair can teach. It’s my cup of tea.

I am not here to prove how much neither do I seek accomplishments that will one day be forgotten.

I’ve been told countless times to win, win and win but I never got led to. My bruises, pain, tears, countless failures equals me.

Give me what you call wisdom, give me peace of mind. I’ll find my fun,my energy, my space and most importantly, me in all of it. Let me be.

Ageing is just a state of mind.

Dyna Ekwueme Copyright, 2016.

Reaching

I may write for you.

I may write for parts of you that were whole when you held on to the slips.

Image result for shame in black and white

Picture gotten from-Academichustler1975

I could ask when last you saw green, the colour, the scent, the pure green. When? I may choose to go on and rant about the look in your eyes when you see old notes, songs you shared that you refuse to listen to now. How about the people that remind you of who you used to be? How often do you break your noise with your own silence? This is me thinking about you.

When I chose to get lost in the sight of reality, I mean when I chose to disappear yet again, I unlearned a lot gradually. I could tell you that everyday that passed induced pain, from withdrawals to set backs and back to me again yet, I still chose to stay out of sight. Did I make better friends? No, I found a better friend in me. Was I convinced about validation not from self? Yes and I’m learning to be more content and humble.

When it’s not always about you, you’d notice even the little girl that was kidnapped in another continent. When you are more present, the people you love become an investment. You feel genuine laughter choking your lungs and taking your breathe all away. Each passerby will teach you without speaking to you. Your cravings change so will people that you think revolve around you. Those who found you to be more convenient when it was for them, you won’t see anymore. The tune you dance to all of a sudden changes and everyday will begin to remind you of days you haven’t spent. Time becomes money.

There’s a fever we’ve all caught and depending on the way we choose to treat it, we’d either die from it or live with it for better. The fever that has slowly eaten up our sense of belonging, a fever that has made us a bit too sensitive pushing many of us literates to ignorance and self-destruct. We want to live a better life but we don’t know how, even when we find out ways to do so, we gamble with time. We want to be the best version of ourselves yet, we find it difficult to move on. We creep into other people’s lives to feel better about ours. This fever has forcefully made us to place conditions on every little thing we give, even the purest, love. How else are we supposed to reach when we ignore our surroundings and choose to live on deciphered codes with hideous intentions and emotions?

Have a life whilst living for others.

Would love you to share your beautiful thoughts with me dear readers. Thank you.

Dyna Ekwueme Copyright, 2016.

 

A poem for self- millennial poetry

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Remind me who takes it all at last,

the cries, the shame, worries and joys in the past.

These ones never heard of you,

the whole, priceless yet worthy of a true.

LOVE ME ALL THE TIME.

I didn’t need you when I needed to pray,

to wear my make-up, spray and slay.

Who left my name in your mouth?

with your opinions stinging and stinking like gout.

LOVE ME BACK TO BACK.

Can I say a word or two?

about myself, my worth, the way I eat too.

It’s not my taste for men you despise so,

but the way I love and love me to toe.

LOVE ME IN THIS SEASON.

Life without me is like no life

no star, no queen, less diamonds, no wife.

I’ll pay my weaknesses with strength and love

nevertheless, these words won’t stall or put me off.

LOVE ME WITHOUT REASON

 

 

Dyna Ekwueme Copyright, 2016.

 

 

The magic in ‘first times’

I had an Asian friend who I had known for over a year leave me a goodbye note. On it, part of what she had written said “..it’s been a really great pleasure to have met you, my very first Negro friend”. To be totally honest with you, I had a rush of mixed feelings just reading that line. I laughed, got offended, laughed again, cried and ran out to give her a tight hug. Why? Firstly, I imagined being her only black friend out of the battalion of my kind we have in our city, Brighton. I also thought how naive she was not to know that calling me a ‘Negro’ was sort of offensive but I read that line again and laughed again “..my very first Negro friend”. At that moment it occurred to me that, I wasn’t going to see her again until fate or coincidence brings us back together. I thought of her presence for the past one year and how time loves goodbyes. I cried for a girl for the first time in my life.

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What am I insinuating?

You won’t know the feeling of magic until you experience something for the first time. It may not be like mine with someone triggering the effect, it may just be you creating and experiencing your own magic. Perhaps, the word ‘magic’ can be a bit too imaginative. Let’s call it a sensational feeling, one that renews your adrenaline. Think about the first time you had done/started something (esp. something that you love and chose to do). The feeling definitely doesn’t feel like the end of it, it doesn’t equate to the time it begins to grow weary, it’s so alive. That, sometimes is what pushes us to finish or continue, the thought of what and why we started. Sometimes the memory it leaves builds up and takes over our strength to carry through even when the initial thought is dead. The magic in ‘first times’ should be felt as often as the zeal you have for consistency.

When was the first time you decided to go for a walk, or probably read a book? When was the first time you chose to change your hair colour, take another route to work? When was the first time you gave something you cherish to the needy or leave someone random kind words? When was the first time you chose to meditate, to switch off and go offline for a while? When was the last time you told the people you cherish how much you appreciate and love them, the first time you hung out with people that are not in your class, race or even circle? These may all sound daunting or probably scary but believe me you, the feeling you get from ‘first times’ are more reviving than the consistent thing you’ve been doing your whole life.

So?

Get up! Go out! and experience your own magic! dear reader.

Dyna Ekwueme Copyright, 2016.