Dear twin sister

Dear Twin sister,
By the time you read this, I would be dead and gone. I know you will shed tears of agony over my wasted life. I know you will ask why I did it. why why why?
Why? If you look at me, then at yourself, you will find the why. Look beyond ceaseless times and seasons, you will see the why wrapped in fated doom.
Together, we grew in one womb. We swam in the same blood. We were destined to be one, a mystery of creation. And when the time came for us to finally see the world, you went first and I followed. We were like a song that would never go wrong. But remember, I go awfully wrong.
At the mother breast, it was always a healthy competition. You drank, I drank too. I cried, you cried too. We were dressed like one. We were fed like one. Oh yes, we were loved as one.
And then, you began to toddle round the house and I did not. With time, you were walking and running and yet I could not. Four years and the truth dawned. I was born a cripple!
We are one, yet we are different. When we were kids, you had so many friends and I had none. You were loved by many but I was pitied by many. During the school inter house sports, you were always winning the race. I could have represented the school in debate contests because I could speak better than everyone else. I was denied of those opportunities because I have no legs. You took all the glories and I was left with nothing.
Everyone keeps saying that I am the prettiest, but the boys think otherwise. All the love letters were heaped on you. Remember what happened when we were still teenagers? Mum and dad traveled and we were left alone in the house. I crawled out of our room into the sitting room and what did I see? You and Dave making love. At sixteen, you already knew love. That night, I longed for a man’s touch but none came. Who would make love to a cripple, anyway.
I am angry! But not at you. Not even at God. I am angry at myself. Maybe I choose to be like this. Maybe I brought this on myself. Maybe I go wrong somehow somewhere. I don’t know, really I don’t.
But I know. I know I am going to die and now. I am going away. Away from this unwholesome wish for you to be me and me to be you. Away to a place where I would finally find my wings.
Adieu my sister. Adieu…

A Sonnet?

Stuck in the gut of a guzzling lawn
Ghostly memories strummed bland string
Crushed by spiced terror, caged by sassy spring
I sank darkly like a netted pawn

Rippling stench of hell rendered harsh songs
Their tales nothing soft and sweet could bring
Fleeing from fear and struck by sour fling
There echoed my fate like galling gong

But swiftly, there arose a flawless flute
It sang; summoning lost wits to a final fight;
Panting and punching, faith put to flight
Shadowy fear, so viperous and now so mute

Stuck once in the gut of a guzzling rust
I ruffled and bite until victory here burst

...For My Congo

In large numbers we trooped, communally fleeing another round of genocide about to burst at the Eastern part of the country. We were all free Congolese but now, we have been torn from our homes and hope to become refugees in our ownland.
For two days, we had journeyed, daubed with dust and weariness. Thousands of little children, now disrobed of innocence, lugged on their battered heads mountains of tattered mats, heavy bags and other bits and pieces. Reduced to mere skeletons, this unquenchable fire had forced them all into swift maturity. Unlike their mates in other parts of the world birthed into the tenderness and greenness of supple spring, they were born into gushing guns and vile violence.
Most of us were women: married, widow, cripple, old and pregnant. And we bore the greatest chunk of this burden on our cracked backs. With bitterness, we reaped the works of male monsters, whose selfish war drove us away from our security and rest. We were mothers, scattered in pursuit of what our world could not give.
Hungry and worn, most of us wanted to stop by the way and rest. But we dared not. No thanks to distant guffawing of armored tanks unleashed on us by friends and foes alike. And in this muddled chaos, a great deal of us were worst than the blind, for we struggled to identify the true face of the enemy. The rebels clamoured for a taste of the national cake through the grizzly rage of the gun; the government resisted their rage with the blast of the bomb. And we died, everyday, we suffered.
Drooped, some collapsed by the way and were quickly put back on track by others. But of course, there were some who could not make it; the rest of us became stronger for the others. We were determined to survive where millions have perished.

I was starving quite all right, but I had no heart to think about myself. Rather, I was thinking about my two children. While Sabila was walking weakly in front, carrying a bulky bag on his ten year old head, my daughter, just nine months old was tied to my back. It grieved my heart to realize that I could not protect my kids from the evil of this reckless world. Just like I could not protect their father.
It was just like yesterday. My husband was taken away from me, forced into the land of nebulous shadows and muffled dreams.
That morning, mistaken for a rebel, my husband was shot several times and he died right in my arms. The memory of his death was stained with blood and horror.
And sad enough, I was not the only witness. My son saw it all. He saw death on his father’s face.
Everyday, I feared for him. Since it happened, nightmare lived in my dreams. In one of those nightmares, I saw Sabila carrying a big machine gun. Like a warrior, he descended in the midst of so many government forces and began to shoot. He killed all the uniformed soldiers and did not stop at that. He proceeded to a hall full of innocent school kids and fired on until there was none alive. These bizarre scenes continued until I woke on my bed with a start.

“Mama,” Sabila’s weak voice brought me back to the painful world of harsh reality.
“What is it, my son?”
“It is my stomach. It hurts.”
“I know it does. But don’t worry, we would soon get to the camp. There would be enough for us to eat.” I consoled him. His lively countenance had all vanished. Once, his flesh had been as smooth as the moon. But as I looked upon him, what I saw was a different tale.
“But my legs ache too. Can’t I rest them a bit?”
“Be patient Sabila. We would soon reach our destination.”
“You said that more than one hour ago and yet we are still here. Are we going to die like father? Mother, tell me.” My son said and that hurt so bad. At that moment, I wanted to curse the fertile earth for bringing so much hell into our lives.
God must have seen the agony of a widow, for at that instant, the UN and AU refugee camp came to view. Like fellow travelers, excitement flowed in me like spring of water. At last, my children can have something to eat and drink.
Immediately we reached the overcrowded camp, I filled a bottle with enough water. I sat on the ground and gave the bottle to Sabila. While he was busy drinking, I loosened my wrapper so I could free Skunda from my back and give her water to drink.
At first, I thought she was still sleeping. But when I shook her again without a response, I panicked. I screamed her name like a mad woman. Some aid workers came and took her from me. From the grim look in their eyes, I knew my daughter was gone, killed by this senseless war.
Under the sympathetic glare of many, I rolled on the dusty earth and cried. I wept for my daughter and her father. I wept for all I had lost. I wept for my Congo.

Dear Diary

May 2: Dear diary, something strange happened today while I was having my siesta. I felt someone kissed me deeply on the lips but when I opened my eyes, no one was there. I still don’t believe I was dreaming ‘cos it felt so real and …heavenly. The lips tasted like iced candy and the tongue like strawberry. One moment, it was there in colorful cluster, the next, it was gone. I shut my eyes dreamily hoping it would come back….
May 3: You won’t believe it but it happened again. This time around, it was in the bathroom. I was having my shower when I felt the lips again. Consciously, I surrendered my lips, responding to its candied sweetness. Almost immediately, unseen hands began to explore my overflowing nudeness. I moaned quietly when magical fingers tasted, tickled and thrilled my fallowed nipples. The searing tongue moved downward, past every beckoning distraction and settled on the centre of my fertile sea. I cried loudly as flaming tongue devoured my depth. When the tongue stopped its tender assault, something else more muscular and awesome dived into the blue sea. I trembled under the weight of the harmony. It lingered for a while and when it stopped, I was too spent to leave the bathroom. Who could my unseen lover be? An angel or a ghost?
May 4: I was still busy thinking about my unseen lover when I felt his soft touch.
“Who are you?” I asked and waited for a response. What happened next was a wonder. Gentle breeze blew in from the window gathering and twirling until it formed an unbelievable image that made me gulp with desire. He was the tallest thing I ever seen. Jet-dark hair tumbled down his shoulders like a dazzling waterfall. His bare chest was full of muscles and lush hairs. I saw dazzling stars in his eyes. How I ached for his touch.
“Who are you?” I asked again, certain of what he would say. I am your guardian angel sent to show you the path of pleasure. I have come to fold you with the brimming magic of heaven searing breath of passion.
“I am… your imagination.” He said and I panicked. That was no what I wanted to hear.
“My imagination?
“Oh yes.”
“You mean… you do not exist?”
“No except in your imagination.”
“That is not possible! You made love to me and it was so real.” I went wild.
“Yes, because that is what you desired. You felt what you wanted to feel.”
That statement dashed my dreams. I rushed forward bent on holding tight to him and caught nothing but shadows. Have I been making love to myself through a twisted imagination? Dear diary, am I going crazy?

Flipping and flapping

Twisting and twirling in the belly of this strain
You move gaily to graceful refrain

Flipping and flapping in the midnight lair
You sweeten now like sugary clair.

Fanning and stirring, this tender flair flourishes
Passion blazes, mellowing echoes without straying stitches.

Flipping and flapping in the midnight lair
This strain you love and sure will blare.

They Fell Too

They fell

from gangling slips

and muffled dreams.

They fell

from worled ways

that could not stay.

They too fell and fell

but no one was there

to tell.

For how long?

Right now, I don't feel like writing. My spirit is down. Months after serving the nation, I am still here without a job and it is killing me.

For how long

Will this smile go wrong.

For how long

will i wait for the pretty sun?

I hope i won't wait forever.