For millennials: 21




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.


Deja Vu #18

I knew I was once a captive

But I still am

On the verge of my echo

Which hands a ripple effect

Cosy but never rosy at the edge

Clinging to my sense of feeling.

Who can tell how many times it concurred?

With my past and now?

The populace it stole their minds,

Engrossed with pathetic thoughts?

Some had lived twice’ thrice in it

But the rest never quotes the picture it paints.

“I’ve been born twice” they alter

On the same earth we commute

Would you thank me if I said

I were your good and bad mystery?

Replay your memoir, See if I were true

So you’ll write again and remember today.

This poem was written last year, June. It’s rewritten today for reflection. meditate and reflect on what is and what next. Hope you had a graceful Saturday? Share what you’re thinking below. Thank you.


Dyna Ekwueme Copyright, 2015.