On ageing

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



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.


A poem for self- millennial poetry


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.


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.


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.


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.




Dyna Ekwueme Copyright, 2016.



Horning Hover

Picture from-UdayavaniEnglish.com

Did you ever think?

How it would be like to see them drown

the painted philosopher’s dream.

It came true within those circles.

We love the puzzles, how the green leaves came to gold

Is it like the teens of the 60’s?

bows and blouses all sewn to fit

merry and merrily he went round

catching every fire that lit in the fog

my tricycle I left to tire through thick shrubs, again.

How would you know?

when preachers preach what they do

call their guilt true with words impure

Ploughing the congregation’s thoughts as far as east

say “I’ll bow”

to noises



and shadows before they begin judging

You ought to show me, loud and as crystal

I landed this moment, I praised this hour

not the witty tone, the voices nor confusion

applaud me in my circles and whispers, Let me be seen in the unseen

in the midst of the waves of shouts, with the horns of touts

Hovering and horning out loud.

Dyna Ekwueme Copyright, 2015.