Sedative sentiments

Image result for black man and woman holding hands

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

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Dear woman, dear man..

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There are ruthless ways your own words may have been translated. There are places you sing songs of war and some you whisper courage. Twice you may have been beaten down by fear, ignorance and love with hopes to come to terms with ever flowing chills. You may have seen you without the others, those you lean so strongly on, those who made you want to read this in the first place. Perhaps, I’m wrong. Wrong about you being unhappy and in pain, constantly wanting more, or maybe you’re happy for the wrong reasons. This may not be for you, this may be for more.

For you.

Dear woman,

You can’t bear it all. It’s perfectly okay to take a step back and care for you. It’s alright that you feel for two, to feel more for others. It’s womanly to embrace your beauty and show off what you’re sensitive to. Your boldness is what men who lack courage detest, your aura is what keeps you grounded to your ego. When you are passionate, the others may not understand, when you seek, you find the roots, when you cry the earth bleeds, when you’re broken the world hears you too. You matter without validation, you’re a piece men cannot do without. You have the ability to create and recreate generations and this power makes you a god. You were born to nurture, give, give, give and give again. Bear this in mind when you belittle you. Hold this high up in your head when you walk into crowded rooms. Educate others when they say to you “you can’t”. Let it warm you always. Let it keep you with love.

For you.

Dear man,

 We hear you. We hear when you’re silent, as it’s as loud as your ego. Your strength and resilience is admirable. The corners you cut and the length you go to get what you deserve have bred feminists. You have the ability to break and mend even though you may choose the former in pressing situations. Your pride and consistency for the things you’re passionate about makes good women appreciate you and good men work diligently with you. However, you sail with your crew members only, often forgetting that passengers could know a thing or two about sailing. It’s totally okay to let your shield down. These walls you build against us breaks you more than it does to us. It’s okay to feel, to cry, to admit to not knowing. It’s fine to accept women that ask for equality, to feel intimidated by once in a while. It’s okay to ignore challenges and just feel. Live with and for the moment without chasing shadows. Breathe without asking for more air. Allow yourself to be drowned by and with love, allow yourself to understand what you constantly fight, allow yourself to hold on for long without the thoughts of letting go. You were born supreme. Society has made you in-charge, regardless, seek to open up a bit more.

Dear woman, dear man..

You need each other to grow, understand, love, feel, chase, reciprocate, challenge,bear and live. You need you most importantly. Begin with this.

Dyna Ekwueme Copyright, 2017.

Blogging series 2: The broken man

by Tom junior

Image result for broken man in black and white

Picture gotten from-Brokenabstract

The broken man laid in his room
He starred at the ceiling and created his own stars
He engulfed himself in the warmth of his hand
He ignored the pains and survived, but never forgot what caused him pain.

The broken man wiped the unending tears from his eyes
He walked up to the wall and turned on the light
He walked to the mirror and smiled in delight
What a beautiful soul full of tears and so much pain?
What a beautiful soul that was all he could say.

The broken man picked up his pieces
Broke them further and put them in places
He allowed his tears mend them
He promised never to be called the broken man again.

The broken man was mended
Despite the dark room he found light
Despite his cloaked eyes he created with stars
Despite the battered life he found his peace
All these came true, he was determined, focused and willing to let go of the past and all he had believed in.

Part 1: contributed by Marvel Augustine

After all the pain the broken man had been through,

he searched for amendments,

even though he was ignorant that mending one’s self could be done by himself.

 After many years of searching, he created a world of his own.

Hell knew him but he didn’t give up,

determined not to be called the broken man ever again.

Disclaimer: This piece was originally written by Tom Junior and part contributed by Marvel Augustine. No parts were added by me . 

Dyna Ekwueme Copyright, 2016.

Thought Blank

You can write from pain and for survival but excluding your image in every scenario makes it imaginative.

Where does your limit for the pursuit of self understanding lie? My everyday life is questionable, it is rhetorical. People come and go yet my existence still suffers from my own recognition. I leave my soul unknowingly to go search for a piece that I hope would add meaning to my life. Sometimes, I fail to go back to my soul (myself) in dissatisfaction of relevance. I break and lose sight of where I stand with myself. When this occurs, connection with people becomes arduous.

I wouldn’t tell you how many times I’d fallen neither would I make references to times where everything seemed to had fallen into place. Some mornings, I wake up feeling totally empty. I feel as though that day was the first day of the week, the first day of the month, the first day I was born, just empty. Empty like yesterday was never there. That is always the point I’m so reliant on my intuition because pragmatically I lose every connection with myself. I make good or bad decisions at these rare empty moments of my life.

I would tell you a bit about my love life and I would still tell you that every being that gives/gave up falling in love is still in love. I have a closed relationship with things and people that excite me but an open relationship to excite others. My loudness for not wanting to fall is truly what makes me understand the disguise behind the word “love”. To me the word is everything and nothing.

To lose touch with pain, you have to be willing to love pain, to smile through pain and to never trust in living without pain. Today was the first time in 6 months that I cried so hard for something. I cried and locked myself in to let out every drop of my tear. I break down every time I’m hurt but it takes only a little frustration, just a little to bring back every reason to shed a tear. Sometimes, the only relief we need from staying strong is not words of encouragement or a pat on our back or even a hug but a moment to go back to being your own soul, fuelling it once more.

It is totally okay to shovel our old ways and go in search of new, of better selves. It is how we build experiences and hope, but we should always remind ourselves of ourselves. Don’t stay too long being another when your own image hungers to be upheld. Your soul connection is what gives you freedom to be yourself anywhere and everywhere and if you feel like you’ve lost your soul in search of whatsoever, it is time for reunion. It is okay to break a little. you are human.

Dyna Ekwueme Copyright, 2015

One Man

Tell me once more, hidden

In every heart that I ever felt

The walk in a crescent path

Countless beyond doubt

That my reap opposes my sow?

Tell me again that I chose to

Fall, to stumble and fall again

Even when there are many of men

Under the sun and dancing in the rain

Would I be love’s judges?

Tell me thereafter when sorrow’s

cup pours, and my cheeks grow weary

That I was born not of Love but

Of the world and its apprentices

Shan’t I be the same?

One man taught me how to love

How love hates, how to be a woman

Even when the heart bleeds, I sing

Isn’t this more revealing than the word itself?

Man that I couldn’t forsake!

Dyna Ekwueme Copyright, 2015