Twilight

One goal, one laughter from the lore One flow, one swansong from the shore One smile, one cuddle from the sun One dance, one salute to the dawn One day, the green will be watered and poise for a kiss that day, the children will dream and dream for a bliss One touch, one caress from the hue One wing, one soaring to the blue One giggle, one chuckling of the rain One future, one budding of the brain One day, the young will find their voice when we give ours the morrow will look its best when they get the hours One goal, one laughter from the lore One flow, one swansong from the shore

The pain assailed crudely, bent on tasting blood. It burnt like fire, bite like ice, and darkness became the king. At that darkest hour, I knew death was nearby but it was torturing my soul rather than killing it. How can dying be more gruesome than death? My eyes snapped open amidst splashing pains and there he was by my bedside. My husband was sleeping, his head resting at the edge of the bed. That moment, desire flowed through my vein like a sparkling spring. I wanted badly to stroke his head one more time. I wanted to look into his eyes and once again soar on the magic of his fingers, but my arms failed me. The only thing I was capable was tears and it burst again and again. For fifteen years, we had both loved. Despite not giving him a child, he loved me all the same. A medical doctor, gifted in the art of mellowing poetry, Toye knew how to spice my smile with those soft words. On our wedding night, he told me I had the best breasts in the whole world and nicknamed them his little...

Rain o rain thou art my favourite refrain on my lips you taste better and I slipped farther... farther and farther until there was no pain

Don't tell me why the sun deflowered the moon and the rain the noon Don't tell me why the dew caressed the leaves and the spring the green But tell me why your day kisses my night and my night your day

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...

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

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...