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More PoetryShort Stories |
New Poems - from England 2005New Poems - 2004 |
Love’s GriefOh that these eyes be caused to weep in silence A witness to a heart, deep rooted in love, tortured and chipped. To watch a heart, that dotes, cherishes and adores, Loved with malignancy. This heart, warm with rhythms of love, Frozen in the cold hands of lust.
Oh cupid! Dear cupid, You never told me your duty was to hurt with your symbol For here I stand, guilty! Persecuted for wielding your gift.
And you Aphrodite, oh Aphrodite! You never told me yours was to be cast away. Beautiful as it is, like the fate of a wanton.
This heart, scathed once but healed in faith, Now sampled, rejected and branded unworthy. Another victim of lust.
You mortals, Show me a maid of the best counsel Or one void of the tiniest spot Show me a love not corrupt amongst us Nor played for gain But mine, O beloved, I give without fear or favour Blind to the limitations we both possess.
Forgive my trespass on your heart, For I mean no harm in love Oblivious this poses an offence.
Accept my contrition, That this love barricades your liberty To woo hearts of your fancy. That my love, O beloved, Hinders your quest for “the one”.
June 2004 Forlorn FeelingMy love, OsuToday they were refused a wife The other day, a husband. Preceding, greetings meetings and eating in oneness Tomorrow, perhaps denied existence.
The fate of the Osu
Suspected, sniffed and sorted Always “unclean” to the “clean” Less preferred to our domestic beasts
The fate of the Osu
A perfect version of us handmade by the Almighty Chukwu To share in the course of life Yet denied this by their people, their tribe We mortals.
Considered slaves in ancient history Slaves of our ancestors Off springs of a living myth Slaves? Slaves of whose people? Were we not once slaves?
Humiliated Segregated Avoided like the plague
The fate of the Osu
The scented The left-handed The untouchables The non-Dialas as often called And all jargons accorded Yet they bear the same race and tribe as us Species of our kind.
O gods of our land is this part of your will? That a familiar man be called “stranger” In his own land?
And you Chukwu, Did you fashion us to make outcasts of ourselves? For if this be true, Then I am yet to decipher this myth. |
Our DilemmaYou, our gods of immortals and living Of seas and lands Of all visible and not We beseech, hear our cry this day And come to our rescue.
Our sacred weapons of pleasure Are being destroyed by the day Rendered useless by our overseeing Lords and Ladies Of ancestral descent.
They perform a barbaric operation on our ‘flesh of honour’ And call it ‘Female Circumcision’ in the white man’s language. They mutilate our pride and say it is ‘tradition’ “The initiation to womanhood”
They cut us! Oh yes, they cut us with the blade.
In the gaze of our fellows, they cut us At times in the secrecy of our mother’s haven. They do not concede to the tools, Nor words of the physician’s for our safety To them it has been for ages and tradition dare not be defiled. They just cut us.
Against our will as they are wont to For we foresee the agony and anguish To these we try to parry but helpless we are
Our eyes have cried, tears of unending pain and torment They have run dry of water. Our hearts, laden with loathsomeness We fear may burst.
They cut us; with or without our consent Left to bleed by their ignorance Sometimes fatal to our existence. Other times, we become plagued with illness of strange names “Infection” the physician would call it
Again they say it delivers us from the hands of promiscuity As we ascend the ladder of womanhood. Such blasphemy! We think As if we are not bound for the act of consummation In our ‘married’ days
As we watch our counterparts this day Buried deep in this sin… Sisters whom we term fortunate cut at childbirth Fortunate to have escaped the pain we feel now, We can’t but wonder- “Who is fooling who?”
You, our ancestral Lords and Ladies Suffer us no more we beg What profit do you aspire When our lives are wont to expire in this course of tradition?
Oh! What a shame, That you who drum to our ears To revere the dignity between our legs Become the ones that destroy it.
© Chinwe Azubuike 2004
Fears Of A Celibate WomanThe selfish lust of man Has earned him my doubt and distrust. With this vast body of desires, I feel forsaken Who is fit to uncross my twisted legs? And throw them wide apart For my core is burning Oh! You knight in shining Armour Come and prove me wrong. © Chinwe Azubuike 2004
The Bride Price
© Chinwe Azubuike 2004-5 EveryoneSweet awaiting More enticing than Aphrodite Stronger to resist than a lover, The power of this pleasure filled temptress is exulted.
Fools the senses, Cajoling even the most reserved Suggests unchaste playfulness, Demanding surrender.
Savoured or devoured, One weakens under its rousing charm. To attempt it is to desire it To taste it is to become gluttonous.
Addictive! Blood stirring!! Sinfully degrading!!! None escapes its grasp.
Its bowl of pleasure, Satisfies a budding crave.
What promises to satiate the flesh more? What is more delightful than love?
© Chinwe Azubuike 2005 |
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