STILLBIRTH: THE CURSE OF A MOTHER by Seyi Awojulugbe

STILLBIRTH: THE CURSE OF A MOTHER by Seyi Awojulugbe

by | Apr 7, 2016 | POEMS

STILLBIRTH: THE CURSE OF A MOTHER

I was pregnant,

Every movement I felt was a wonder

With my growing stomach, my eagerness grew

Then I began to hear tales

Tales of the horrors of birth

Tales of reaching the great beyond

Tales of excruciating pain

Then my anxiety grew.

The big day came and my fear blossomed,

Became a pill too big to swallow

“Open your legs”

“Give way to your child”

I felt her try to push her way through

Yet I held on, I didn’t want a part of the pain

It became a struggle between us

And she won

Source: www.abelabel.com

Source: www.abelabel.com

The decision was taken out of my hands

And the journey began

Tears flowed like a car on the express

The moments of rest were welcomed with such relief

I began to search for the silver lining

I looked forward holding a baby in my hands

And I faced my pains with the knowledge of the joy ahead.

It soon became over

And I stretched my hands to welcome a baby

Alas!

It was a stillbirth

The tears stopped flowing

And I looked on helplessly as my world crashed

Love found me

It taught me to face my fears

And just when I was ready to take on the world,

Love left.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Oluseyi Awojulugbe is a lady who believes that there is always another side to a story. She is a hopeful romantic who still believes despite the odds.For her, the best things in the world are God’s love, the view of the world that only words provide and being in a lover’s arms.
HUNGRY LITTLE BOY by Chuks Obi

HUNGRY LITTLE BOY by Chuks Obi

by | Oct 8, 2015 | POEMS

Hungry little boy

If only you looked at my side

You’d see that I am burning inside

If only you considered my plight

You’d see that I’ve never known light

My life has been a fight

For survival and for life

All I’ve known is strife

Please let a brother live

I never chose my parents

I never chose my fate

My life is full of talents

No platforms to display

I sit here in the trash cans

Praying for quails and manna

Dreaming of my late mama

Recalling her last stammer

Hungry little boy

Hungry little boy

To those with silver spoons

That glister like the moon

Won’t you spare a bite

Or help me reach my heights?

I thought I had a right to life

Conditions kill me everyday

At times like this

Death looks so good

For when I steal

You chase the thief

I run from hunger

I land in thirst

A child that’s starving

Can have no rest

My refuge, the garbage

My bed, the grass

My rants are senseless

My sense is ranting

To Christians and brethren

Christ died for me

To muslims and faithfuls

I pray so often

To the famous and great

Your pride is vague

For the truly great man

Is stirred by compassion

Of all the laws and customs

Rights and obligations

Of all constitutional chapters

Sections and subsections

A right to food

Is a right to life

A right to clothing

Is part of living

A right to shelter

Makes life worth living

I’m just a hungry little boy

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Chuks Obi is a law student at the University of Ibadan. He writes poems that bring to light various issues affecting Africa with the aim of drawing public attention to them, thus, making the world a better place.
WHAT MY MOTHER KNOWS

WHAT MY MOTHER KNOWS

by | Sep 23, 2015 | POEMS

WHAT MY MOTHER KNOWS

The texture of darkness.
The scent of my father whenever
he leaves home at dawn with anger
rioting in his stomach.

The shape of hunger. Our bellies on days

when my father deserts us like a haunted house.

African mother. Source: www.babymamahood.com

African mother. Source: www.babymamahood.com

Our eyes full of hollows on nights when our palms

quiver as we gather around my mother, watching her
mumble voiceless aches.

 

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Rasaq Malik is a graduate of the University of Ibadan, Ibadan, Nigeria. His poems have appeared in Connotation Press, Heart Online Journal, Jalada, Saraba, Sentinel, African Writers, New Black Magazine, Kalahari Review, and elsewhere. He believes writing is an act of healing, an art that transcends the world, that survives every death.
DRUMS, DRUMS

DRUMS, DRUMS

by | Aug 29, 2015 | POEMS

DRUMS, DRUMS…
Drums, drums,
Play drums not violins,
Play drums not keys,
They asked me to play drums…
And I started playing drums
Though I grew up amid violins and keys,
Though I used to dance around cement trees…
Drums, drums,
Play drums they shouted
If you want our ears to listen,
And our very eyes to see,
And our fat hands to give…
And I started playing drums
Though I grew up with pride and will…
Drums, drums… I played
From dawn to dusk and from dusk to dawn,
Drums… I played like I never thought
The soft and silky hands of mine would ever do,
Drums, drums… I played
So that the future from its coming centuries
Could remember the cradle of the spring
Climbing the mountain restlessly…
Drums, drums… I played
Until my hands became strong enough
To fight elephants and hippos…
Drums… I played
Until I forgot the sweetness of violins…
Drums… I played
Until I lost my keys…
The African drummer and his drum!

The African drummer and his drum!

Drums… I played,
Oh Lord! Drums… I played
Not so passionately that I could close my eyes,
But so blindly that I would shut my eyes!
And shut my ears!
Drums… I played,
And drums shut my whole life!
Drums, drums,
Play drums not violins,
Play drums not keys,
They asked me to play drums,
And I started playing drums…
But they weren’t listening,
They weren’t looking at me,
They weren’t even there!
I realized when I opened wide my eyes
That I was all alone,
Half naked in the midst of the bush!
Drums, drums… I played
So much that my water ran dry,
And the winds and the times
Had drawn deep lines in my face…
There I was rooted in the past,
While they were relishing a stainless future!
Drums… I played,
Yes I played like a fool!
While they were giving their own sons
Violins and keys of the purest air…
Here I am… seeking the way to their songs
As the bush is covering and drowning me
Like a mere drop in the hidden river of a forsaken place…
Drums, drums… I played
For they said so.
RAY NDEBI

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

My name is Théodore René Ndebi, born in Cameroon. I graduated in Banking Management. But what really makes me proud and happy is WRITING !!!!! I started writing around 1990. I write the most I can.

I mostly write for children’s future. As a child, I had always dreamt of a world where poor children and orphans could be happy as well. I have many unpublished collections in French: Chaque Jour Un Poème, Rêve D’un Soir, La Missive Du Petit Prince, Suis-Je Assez Bien Pour Toi… I’m also author of unpublished novels in French (Cierge Noir, Plus Violent Que L’amour, Les Fruits De La Tempête…). My first published novel; THE LAST GHOST/Son Of Struggle got published in 2013 by AuthorhouseUK; it appears in the LOS Angeles Times Festival Of Books Catalogue 2014 Page 8. Available online @ Amazon, Kindle, AuthorhouseUK, Barnes & Noble, Indie. I wrote numerous award winning texts. I am a Book Reviewer and Translator. I am a member of OneAfricanChild since 2013 and Co-Founder of Le Salon Du Livre Yaounde-Cameroon. You can check my works on: authorrayndebi.wordpress.com.Ray Ndebi on Facebook, @RTNdebi on Twitter, Facebook Page My Soul & Mon Ame.

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