No more tears by Daniel Ikekhuah.

No more tears

I feel shame when I look into the mirror;

I feel bitter to see what I’ve become.

I can’t tell my friends or family; who would believe me?

I can’t tell the police, they will only mock me.

I am that girl who people describe as little;

But you really don’t have a clue what I’ve been through.

The ones who are supposed to protect me;

End up taking advantage of me.

At sixteen I was called a pretty teen;

But daily I deal with low self-esteem.

Used and abused by the ones I look up to;

I being pushed, and might take my life if it comes to.

Marriage was supposed to be my sweet haven;

Nothing else to compare except God’s Holy Heaven.

But in the arms of the one I truly  loved;

I suffer the pain of his fist as thick as gloves.

And when he is not hitting me;

He speaks uncaring cold hearted words, stinging me.

For better fore worse was the vow I took;

But better remains oblivious,

As this journey keeps growing worse.

I am that woman next door;

We even go to the same market, in the same bus;

I am that girl in your classroom;

Who you think is being pompous in your point of view;

I am the little girl in the playground;

All by myself, ensuring no boy is around.

I yearn to tell my story

That justice would take the glory

But will you accept back in society

And not point your fingers back at me….

I beckon on you;

Come to my rescue.

Help tell my story;

That justice would take the glory.

Else I'll cry; till I have no more tears in my eyes.

by Daniel Ikekhuah

Word Up Volume 6 is scheduled for November 23, 2013 at Terra Kulture, V/Island, Lagos, with the theme, "Stop the violence." The event theme is centered around the United Nation’s “International day for the elimination of violence against women.” 

I Don't Want to Write a Poem.

I don't want to write a poem

Since poems aren't meant for MEN.

Men drink their pain away in whiskey every night

And smoke their sadness pretending to be all right.

You ask what brings this pain and sadness.

What instance was it? What madness?

Well just guess and I bet with the first try you'll find it.

Yes, of course! What else. My woman, not anymore, was it.

And I am trying to avoid all my friends

But stuck I am with all their clichés.

You'll forget her. She doesn't deserve you or even worst

Don't worry. It's ok. She will regret it and it's her loss.

That's why the whiskey I love.

Lost I am in this dark bar.

To the always nice songs from the 80s listening.

They don't really help. Who am I kidding?

My chest, my lungs is squeezing.

It hurts so much, even the breathing.

And at the end I know that I myself became the cliché.

My feelings for her so stupidly in this trap led.

I didn't want to write a poem

Since poems aren't meant for MEN

And this unbearable pain in a poem I ended up writing

Until I wake up one day and go back on leaving.

by

Geopapas

Source:

http://voices.yahoo.com/i-dont-want-write-poem-3944218.html?cat=42

Poetry stalks me by Alice Keys MD

Poetry stalks me

in the midst of my afternoon

while I walk barefoot under a blue shell sky.

Birth pains of poetry are

higher up

than the guttural quakes that shoved

new miracles from the mouth of my womb.

Poetry harpoons me

when I lean down to pick

sharp grit from my heel.

It strikes

to the right of my breastbone,

stabs deep

to set the hook then

pulls me

into unbearably thin air.

I press

my hand to the wound

and gasp

while I wait for the light to change

at the corner.

by Alice Keys MD

http://alicekeysmd.wordpress.com/2013/01/04/poetry-stalks-me/

Paradox Of A Poet by Afroxyz.

You don't need a voice

to be heard.

Or an ear to hear

the still small voice.

Your vision is not

an offspring of your eyes

Or your path,

the reward of having legs.

The taste of defeat,

does not perch on the tongue

Or the smell of money

yield to the nose.

You may be so poor,

That all you have is money.

Yet you are free,

But caged by society.

The gate to salvation,

Is not opened by religion.

Just as facial beauty

Should not be taken at face value.

The devil would never meet you,

Dressed in black overalls.

He is afterall,

An angel of light.

Truth is sometimes protected,

With a bodyguard of lies.

The dance of the water spirits,

Is not an invitation to party.

The ocean cannot quench

The thirst of the soul,

Even the appetite of a glutton,

Cannot match the lust for a woman.

The nakedness of beauty,

Is veiled with clothes.

So is the nakedness,

Of evil.

The deepest wounds,

Shed no blood.

And orange juice,

Is not Agbala's libation

by Afroxyz: