Miraquill
Dear Tommorow
I hope I get to see your sunrise and smell the innocence of birds who are still not scared of flying in the open sky. Today, Aunty Jane lost her love in war and the laughters of yesterday have become a today ragged with sombre.
She crumples on Mama's wooden floor like a spread of dead flowers. Saggy skin have come upon her in the day of her vibrance like the shrieks of the night.
Memories relay me to the moments forevers were sworn. She, like the bride of whiteness and he, like the groom of darkness. Both smiling at the now they shared and the vows to be said.
But none ever sent you an invitation, they had hoped you'd invite yourself, strengthening the bond they shared everyday you replicated yourself by the death of today.
Were you so angry that they forgot you? That everyone forgets you as soon as you're born in today - today receiving all the attention.
But they did look to you, counting up to the days their undying love would herald the scream of a bundle forged in purity and love.
You got too jealous, dear tommorow. You had the stage set for the drums of the damaged and she whirls to your eclectic strings, writhing in wishes unfulfilled and promises unsaid.
You hid well in the jags of piercing screams, foetid blood, punctured heads, splintered spines, severed bones and skewered intestines where you embezzled a life intertwined with another.
You could have permitted her to share the tidings of the form emerging within her; a life to be birthed within your glorious rays.
Dear tommorow, your snuffed the candles of her joy and you plunged her into a dark world - a world where she would remain stuck in today reliving the pain over and over again.
I still ramble with unbroken tether to the yoke of numberless moonlights ago. The twilight that yesterday brought to my life when Father found wings and went on a flight of evermore.
Dear tomorrow, I may not know what's written in your dairy for me or Aunty Jane but I hope faith finds us leaning in helplessness.
In our nothingness and surreal end, teach us to count the days in restitution - to do all that's to be done, say all there is to say and love what exists to be loved.
And when you cook your stories in the pot of time, add the condiments of beautiful memories to be tasted and the salt of satisfaction. Add chunks of laughters, bits of smiles, slices of peace and extra layers of love.
To:
The tomorrow that hatches in today.
Uncertainty Lane
©whytequeen
#herheartpoetrycommunity
166 posts-
whytequeen
56w
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Follow @whytequeen on Mirakee6 1 1
- whytequeen Hello. Good evening. I just got your message right now. I'm wondering if I am too late.
whytequeen
68w
Read More#writing #poeticjustice #poetsofmirakee #poetry #poetrycommunity #poetrycommunityofmirakee #poems #poemvibes #poemsporn #poema #daringdeliciousdairies #mirakeeoet #herheartprotectsherself #herheartpoetrycommunity #writer #herheartpoetry #wordporn #writingcommunity #writing #shewrites #writersofmirakee #writingit #africanwriters #africanpoet #spilledink #naijawriters #inktober #likeforlike #doortooursouls #typewriter #writersnetwork @writersnetwork
Follow @whytequeen on MirakeeA go ny
I think of thoughts and pain unthinkable
Shutting the eyes seem easy,
but the pain is not sucked in.
It remains a reminder on the chest,
heavy, unspeakable.
A go ny
I go in
Into my flesh
Reshaping into my skin...
but there are flabs of the past.
Things one can not let go
Because the end of the rope is burnt
and it hangs loose in our hearts.
So we wear hushes,
with the thrushes
burning our tongues
And carry on with long faces
as time jeers at our slow pace.
Before we learn to lift up our heads
and look at the world again...
The word on the street is that
everything new is old
And everything old is older.
We find the world has outgrown us.
We are just the excess cloth
life has tailored out.
Like the extra bogus allowances,
we are trimmed out
and shoved in the bin.
And so our tales end
and the curtain of another opens
beaming bright like the day we never remembered blaring hungry throats
into the world,
with hopeful and excited little feet
learning to take its first step.
But no one ever teaches you
how to walk the walk in life.
Because life may never publish
a manufacturer's manual.
Successful people offer
tiny journals of their journeys
and the undead seeking a way ahead
hurry to read.
There's no life without strife...
Show me a sky devoid of winds,
I'd show you the darkness
lurking behind deadbeat skies.
Show me life without woes
and I'd tell you the throes
are a stone-throw away.
Wait for it!
What's happiness?
Is it the absence of sorrow?
What's peace?
Is it the leave of war?
It's the congruence of anomaly.
A state in which we exist.
One is the marker of the other.
In a-go-ny, we recall the times
we shared from the bowels of joy
ricocheting from the
lips of a loved one lost.
Forgive me,
but I cannot put the word a-go-ny together,
for the tune it played last left a blast
where my heart used to reside.
I am healing, but without the organ in place.
We are healing. Our emotions will learn to improvise.
It's a process.
Allow it.
©® Whyte Queen4 0
whytequeen
69w
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Follow @whytequeen on MirakeeTongues and Throes
Every kind of fabric;
the one which conceals it all;
the little one that holds two firm mounds;
the v-shaped one that holds the key to the city;
are all peeled away.
Tongues begin to trail;
hands go astray;
they roughen every part in their path.
Mouths join in the search of troves;
they find organs alike;
both coiling in a savage twist.
Procreative organs pound together..
a new flame is ignited;
it begins to spread;
first, through the lungs
finding its way to the stomach;
there's an unsettling here,
as it moves through limbs.
Passion strikes the temperature
of desires; heat escapes through
every pore it can find.
The intense heat finds no escape pods
so it manifests as pimples on the flesh.
Do you want more?
©®Whyte Queen
©whytequeen7 0 1
whytequeen
72w
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Smile: A Figure of Speech
Smile is a figure of speech!
Please go back to the first line and read again.
Like soap is dissolved in water,
it is as fickle as this-
fading with moments.
When the anger kisses our lips
this sparks of smiles are gone
like they were never there.
But as poets, we thrive in pain-
the rough edges of our metaphors
cutting like blades of a trampled grass.
I come with an inquiry-
if the pain within you dries up
what would your lines then bleed?
Only if I knew how to paint
words using allusions of joy,
perhaps, the poet in me
will not have been reduced
to pellets of once upon a time glory.
I hate to say this,
but these sombre moments
are the liquid of my poems
They are the little dragons
that breathes the fire
that once burned
within these walls of mine.
Happiness have slayed my creative creatures
now I understand there's a need to feel both worlds-
to be grateful even as the sear deal its pang.
What debris of diction
is left for happy poets like me?
Do I pick up the common
placards of romance or receipt of love once lost?
Perhaps, recuperation too is a kind is sickness
especially for one used to being too ill.
©®Whyte Queen14 0
whytequeen
74w
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Body of Water
Body of Water
meeting the waves halfway-
saltiness swallowing fears
losing the feel of sand
with every step.
wet sand slapping face
beckoning for a rethink
eye shut,
defiling redness
that summit to tears
Seagulls offer truce
crooning for a submission.
Fates are sealed
Decisions made
The surrounding body of water calls.
A dive gives it all-
At first, the waves would resist
but alas, no struggle from this side.
Slowly, it sets in.
The body of water
rushing into flaccid ears,
nose, mouth-
everything that leaves itself open.
The stomach will drink to its fill
until the substance that gives life
gradually disappears.
The body of water will hold on
for a while to the body of sacrifice
and when its mouths are full
it would retch the peels unto land.
Live eyes will stumble on it.
Concerned gloves will lift
it into a body bag.
The ones who once
placed a voice to the face
would weep at its recognition.
The greedy body of water
would moan for yet another
and the cycle repeats itself again.
©Whyte Queen
©whytequeen11 0
whytequeen
75w
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Saunters and Sorrows
SAUNTERS AND SORROWS
Someone told me my poems are now devoid of imageries.
Who would whisper to him that my mind is an angry man's maze
with cobwebs; you may never find your hungry eyes out of it.
You'd mesh into its sorrows and expire in its sombre lines.
I know you; you seek out the darkness in your soul
I'd show you the way but are you willing?
Willing to pay the price of taking a screenshot of the demon that pesters your tiny soul?
Or the wickedness that vomits in the recesses of your mind
The gore, the arrows you've fired in your mind;
those around you walking dead
your thirty-six feigning a smile.
Ha! I am yet to begin and you fidget.
Let me raise the curtains
and show you your true self
behind those smiles
Raise your glass
and I'll reveal the shards
piercing your emotions.
The darkness once beckoned in my lines
dragging me beyond boundaries
and I knew I had opened a door of terror
and it did consume me,
with grief and hopelessness
I watched me shrink into nothing;
a bubble of empty air,
burning like the early morning fires of a rain forest
The chars fell as a thousand black birds;
a rebound into the tripods of macabre
death was encompassing;
it had its talon deep in my flesh
poured its dark blood in my mouth.
The creature called to the hungry skies
and my spirit rose to answer
I knew the moment to be the end
A shut of my eyes and the plea of my soul
lead to a doorway to life.
Only but for a shekel of salvation
and a tupenny trinket of tremor
did I place an order for a set of new wings.
now I understand how to cushion myself
in the midst of both worlds.
©®Whyte Queen
Whyte Queen
Poem 3
13/01/20
©whytequeen6 0
whytequeen
76w
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I don't want to be that girl
I don't want to be that girl anymore.
The one who kisses the lips of pain
and hugs the salt of tears.
The one whose soul is black with regret
whose voice breaks a mirror
whose tears are ever flowing.
I don't want to be that girl anymore.
The one who sits in the dark
drinking from the burden of sorrow.
The one who never carries a smile-
whose heart is wretched;
who is old from worries.
I don't want to be that girl anymore.
The one who resides in gloom
and recites the poetry of pain.
The one whose garment is draped in twilight;
whose map never leads to love;
who never find comfort.
I don't want to be that girl anymore.
The one whose crown is carved from woes
and emblazoned with putrid blood.
The one who carries a knife in relations
ready to stab, should she feel betrayed.
I don't want to be the broken hearted girl.
The one who has hated more than she loved.
The one who feels accursed.
The one not custom made for happiness.
I want to be the girl
whose souls breaks into a blinding light,
and illuminates surrounding dark souls.
The one who gives the hopeless
one more reason to live.
©®Whyte Queen
©whytequeen13 0 2
whytequeen
94w
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Box of Bones (BoB)
I carry myself in a box;
sometimes I shake it
to find myself
and all I hear are
sounds
of broken bones.
©®Whyte Queen12 1
whytequeen
94w
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Blood
Hear my pen scraping my diary,
I'll bleed on these pages...
I'll these devastating memories here
and burn it...
Away with the pain.
Pain - Papa inflicted on me.
I'll carve his image on my walls
and I'll stab him everywhere.
I'll twist and turn the blades
until he bleeds out a confession;
until I get justice.
©®Whyte Queen5 0
whytequeen
107w
Read MoreI was born a premature; my mom was 6 months pregnant. She had chicken pox at that time which forced her early delivery.
I was said to be red and too tiny. The doctors had looked at me and confirmed that I couldn't even last two days.
I could barely breathe. I was kept in an incubator but doctors felt it was a waste of money, time and space so we were discharged.
At home, I was prevented from being exposed to the air. The windows of Mom's room were all shut and I was swaddled in more than five wrappers to offer me warmth. There was always a lantern burning to keep the room in appropriate temperature for my body.
I lasted more than two days actually but I had developmental issues.
While other children could run around and play so easily, I found it difficult. I was grown but I was too thin.
While other children could play in the rain, I couldn't. My ears would always hurt so much.
I fussed too much as a child and was tagged "Weaver bird".
I was not permitted to run around or injure myself like other kids did.
I was always sick and would always wound up with injuries on my nose. Children in primary school often would call me "suya nose". They never understood my battles.
The sunken fontannel (i.e. the soft spot in a baby's skull) was still very painful to touch. It prevented me from carrying things on my head even up to this day. It still does hurt when you press it.
I felt weird and often wondered why it had to be me.
I would never forget the day my Mom looked at me on one of my birthdays and smiled. She said "Nzoputachukwu, I never imagined you'd grow up. Now look at you!"
Indeed, I have been looking at myself. What did I do to deserve survival?
I have never again questioned my peculiarity.
Fast forward to the days after my Mom's death. I had only finished my secondary school education at that time. We were left with a small Café and a little Bookshop to fend for ourselves.
Before Mom's death, I was made to acquire computer skills as a Typist. I never knew somewhere in the future, it would help me live a better life.
My sister and I were the ones taking care of the shop. While my elder managed the Bookshop, I managed the Café; as teenagey as I was back then.
It took a large chunk of my time and life. It was never easy on us.
Family relatives didn't send us. They suggested we sell the two little shops and share the proceeds amongst ourselves.
They never believed we could take care of us. We were alone in the world. Things were not easy. I wrote Jamb four years after I finished with secondary school.
We really struggled. Four years gone, we were still living in a room and parlour at that time. The most basic thing we could afford was food.
Even when I applied for Jamb in 2014, there was no source of financing for my schooling. I was not so disappointed I didn't get the admission. I wrote JAMB four good times.
There were some days I would wake up and begin to cry, wishing Mom was still alive. Imagine a teenager like me working her butt off to make ends meet.
Some days, my bones didn't feel like going to work. Our opening time was 7am and closing time 11-12pm. We sometimes didn't even do dinner because right on the bed you wanted to take five, you would sleep off.
Soldiers and Officers came with sweet mouths and sugarcoated promises. Some would even offer my elder sister money to take care of us as long as she would give them sex. We never succumbed!
It continued this way until we were able to raise money from our little proceeds to open a supermarket.
Today our supermarket is one of the biggest in the barracks. Our names are everywhere, not as the girls who sold their woman pride for money but as the girls who struggled to make something of themselves.
Today, we live in a three-bedroom apartment with spacious every every.
I am today a 200level student, studying Psychology at the reputable Nnamdi Azikiwe University. The sponsorship for my schooling comes from that shop.
In fact, I have two other siblings in school; my immediate elder sister and immediate younger sister, all sponsored by that shop.
I help out during the holidays. The days have not all been buttery but when I look around me, I find a hundred and one reason to be grateful.
Today, I know a few people who thinks life has all been good to me. In the words of a certain guy "privileged". Little do they know that like every one else, I have a story behind my back.
I know what it means to gather yet it appears as though you've gathered nothing.
Imagine if we had sold our bodies for money....we wouldn't be an employer of labour today.
Our chain of shops employ more than a total of six people with a great monthly salary each.
I know life is not done with me. I still have more stories to tell.
In the meantime, let these be added as a chapter to that book.
Indeed, #Iamspecial
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shraddha_negi
Nice
Can you please do me a favour! I urgently need few subscriptions on our POETRY CUM MOTIVATIONAL CHANNEL! Kindly extend your support if you find it worth!
The link is in my bio!!
I am sure the videos will be able to touch your soul deep and will prove to be a MOTIVATIONAL BOOSTER for you!!
Stay safe! Stay home!! - beautifulsoul22 So inspiring ✨ hats off
whytequeen
107w
Read More#writing #poeticjustice #poetsofmirakee #poetry #poetrycommunity #poetrycommunityofmirakee #poems #poemvibes #poemsporn #poema #daringdeliciousdairies #mirakeeoet #herheartprotectsherself #herheartpoetrycommunity #writer #herheartpoetry #wordporn #africa #african #africanman #africana #africantales #writingcommunity #writing #shewrites #writersofmirakee #writingit #africanwriters #africanpoet #spilledink #naijawriters #rape #inktober #likeforlike #unravel #share #writerstolli #repost #doortooursouls #qotd #typewriter #writersnetwork @writersnetwork @truthspeaker @writerstolli
NATURE
I made love to nature today,
under the receding sunset
the evening winds
ignited our libidos;
I am PREGNANT now
with joy.
©®Whyte Queen
How I love nature!
The sun, glinting on my skin and honing it to a beautiful colour of creamy coffee and caramel.
As its rays descend, blinding my eyes and projecting my cheekbones to an unfiltered smile.
Oh! Don't get me started on the birds!
The birds add a solemn pleasure of absolute calmness and serenity.
I hear of the tales they tell themselves...
of the places their wings have breezed...
of the vast squares of land they've covered.
And if you happen to sit by a Riverside
shut the many thoughts of your heart and listen to the stillness in waters rushing calmly.
They launch the soul into bliss.
Have you lain under a hundred stars?
Watch the constellations and do not confuse a galaxy for a star...
The stars though dimmer than galaxies are the brightest of them all...
Doze under a star and your dreams shall know rebirth.
Gosh! The moon...
Oh! The full moon indeed is a circle of brightness and the half moon a crescent of uncertainties.
How I love the moon leading me home...
My feet swift and my grace calculated.
Have you been tapped by rainfalls?
It drums the flesh with its droplets
and offers you that which the heat have stolen away.
Oh! Nature today is no mother but a lover.
I have had my fill of its love.9 0
whytequeen
108w
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IN FRAGMENTS AND PATCHES
The pieces of us you read
in lines and verses
are not ones easy to come by.
The bits of emotions engraved
in curly blacks and whites
are parts of us we give to you.
What do you do with them?
Do you snarl at them,
cry, make faces, or even pout?
Do you disperse them to the winds
of insouciance
or do you keep them safe for us-
in your hearts?
I wish to know what you do with
the pieces of us we have given
in every of us you've read!
Are we Poets your emotional fools
the ones that cry and bleed in ink
whilst real people face their battles?
Believe me, our voices are stronger
than the rushing of a thousand oceans!
Our truths shall not be silenced
Soon, it will begin to smell
like summer again!
Until then,
muffle not our expressions
but find redemption in the lines we serve.
©®Whyte Queen11 0
whytequeen
109w
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Soothing Scribbles
There's a place I seek refuge
and draw strength from.
All seem quiet and still,
as I listen to the course
steered by my heart.
At midnight particularly,
homeless words come to stay;
their beautiful eyes
glinting in the dark.
I warm a shivery part of me
and I cuddle with them.
So you see?
It's not so difficult
to find bits of me
perched in letters
or lost behind syllables.
At other times,
you'll find me sucking warm milk
from lines and verses.
Indeed, I find myself growing,
away from weariness and anguish,
lulling in the conquer
of my disarrayed ego.
©®Whyte Queen9 0
whytequeen
109w
Read More#writing #poeticjustice #poetsofmirakee #poetry #poetrycommunity #poetrycommunityofmirakee #poems #poemvibes #poemsporn #poema #daringdeliciousdairies #mirakeeoet #herheartprotectsherself #herheartpoetrycommunity #writer #herheartpoetry #wordporn #africa #african #africanman #africana #africantales #writingcommunity #writing #shewrites #writersofmirakee #writingit #africanwriters #africanpoet #spilledink #naijawriters #rape #inktober #likeforlike #unravel #share #writerstolli #repost #doortooursouls #qotd #typewriter #writersnetwork @writersnetwork @truthspeaker @writerstolli
Dirges and Defeat
I'll chant you a midnight's ire
though the lyrics
beckon at my enteric layers
the songs can be heard in empty drums
where the rains hypocritical doth not fall.
I'll sing...
until my hands finds
sustenance from the
stash of usurpers.
I'll chorus the songs
sung by somber maidens.
Though the night's incense burn-
sleep will elude your delicate eyes.
I'll play prickle at the lyre
till I hit the chords
that splits your
confluence of tears.
I'll sing you the songs of
the guiltless burnt at the pyre;
the delusions of truth
shall find adjudication.
I'll laugh at the peril
unleashed upon the guilty;
how they dance crookedly
to their diabolical tunes.
©Whyte Queen5 0
whytequeen
109w
Read More#writing #poeticjustice #poetsofmirakee #poetry #poetrycommunity #poetrycommunityofmirakee #poems #poemvibes #poemsporn #poema #daringdeliciousdairies #mirakeeoet #herheartprotectsherself #herheartpoetrycommunity #writer #herheartpoetry #wordporn #africa #african #africanman #africana #africantales #writingcommunity #writing #shewrites #writersofmirakee #writingit #africanwriters #africanpoet #spilledink #naijawriters #rape #inktober #likeforlike #unravel #share #writerstolli #repost #doortooursouls #qotd #typewriter #writersnetwork @writersnetwork @truthspeaker @writerstolli
*LES DAMNÉS*
*Disclaimer*
This is dark poetry; if you do not do dark poetry, please do NOT proceed to read.
******************
I've had to listen to myself
say nothing
and acknowledge the nothing I've said.
Build on it until it became
a screaming silence.
I've watched myself dissipate
into shreds
of doubts and slices of panics.
I see laughing shadows
and hear echoes of mockery.
It's like I am inside these walls
and people can hear me scream
but they just go on.
Some hang paintings
of inflictions on these walls,
they tear me apart and drown my voice.
Some try to gather my tears
in a cup and others try to
measure the worth of my wails.
Am I not worth saving?
Credible enough to be listened to?
See how they encompass
around my carcass;
and peer into long,
dead grieving eyes
with that stab of guilt at
having done nothing to save me.
They go with that part of me,
haunting their daylights
and screaming their sins
into the willows of their eardrums.
Whilst I lay still, my soul
remain lost in
the gates of purgatory.
©®Whyte Queen10 0 2
whytequeen
109w
Read More#writing #poeticjustice #poetsofmirakee #poetry #poetrycommunity #poetrycommunityofmirakee #poems #poemvibes #poemsporn #poema #daringdeliciousdairies #mirakeeoet #herheartprotectsherself #herheartpoetrycommunity #writer #herheartpoetry #wordporn #africa #african #africanman #africana #africantales #writingcommunity #writing #shewrites #writersofmirakee #writingit #africanwriters #africanpoet #spilledink #naijawriters #rape #inktober #likeforlike #unravel #share #writerstolli #repost #doortooursouls #qotd #typewriter #writersnetwork @writersnetwork @truthspeaker @writerstolli
TRANSCIENCE
We, fading like ink spilled on
a bubble of water,
mixing and disintegrating
into an odourless enigma.
The letters we etched
from our hearts
lie in heaps of unsent mails.
The words carved on the
old, wet walls
are ancient truths
of bespoke feelings.
The words lingering
about our lips
lies in unspoken thoughts;
tears besieging all.
Happiness is nothing but a memory;
retold in the fragility of today.
But tonight,
walls are coming down!
Tears will rain and you'll
feel them like fire snuggling ice.
©®Whyte Queen138 5 11
- trickypost Well written
- tamanna3 Beautiful ❤️
- whytequeen @trickypost Thank you so much.
- whytequeen @tamanna3 Much love xoxo
- himalayan_poet kuch shabdon ki badi baat. Fursat me mera likha bhi dekhen
whytequeen
109w
Read More#writing #poeticjustice #poetsofmirakee #poetry #poetrycommunity #poetrycommunityofmirakee #poems #poemvibes #poemsporn #poema #daringdeliciousdairies #mirakeeoet #herheartprotectsherself #herheartpoetrycommunity #writer #herheartpoetry #wordporn #africa #african #africanman #africana #africantales #writingcommunity #writing #shewrites #writersofmirakee #writingit #africanwriters #africanpoet #spilledink #naijawriters #rape #inktober #likeforlike #unravel #share #writerstolli #repost #doortooursouls #qotd #typewriter #writersnetwork @writersnetwork @truthspeaker @writerstolli
ASHES
I am formerly of embers;
soft to touch,
flaying with winds....
an urgent reminder of vanity;
of easy passing of things.
A painful feel...
of things lost.
The realization of smoldering tears...
of eloquent mournings...
of mournful lamentations...
of darkest of nights....
of the horrific flashes that linger on pillows...
of terrors accompanying dawn...
of the pangs and guilt to live...
I was the ash that adorn faces
of gallant men and
beautify faces of courageous women.
I was the song
you were warned not to sing.
I was the last notes
left to be read by them
who sacrificed their lives
at the altar of death.
I was the tears
most of you could not cry.
I was the tears
that ruined your happy little lives.
I was the sauntering grief
that quaked your daisy phantasms.
I was the nakedness of pain...
stark in its shameful glory.
I was...
I was...
I was...
In the desires to know what I was,
no one stopped,
not even for a minute
to ask what I am now.
You have all loved everything black...
in the id's of your tiny souls.
You all have a crush on dirges
and are betrothed to funerals.
Tell the truth,
you savour every bit
of the taste of pain...
you long for it in your sorrowful souls.
Tell me,
how is it that in your lust for tears,
you missed the signs of a life
coming slowly to a close?
You saw the signs,
but you were there for the miracles...
to be awed by words
and swayed by lines and verses.
They were poets!
We hide our demons
amidst metaphors and similes
and in every conceit
known to mankind.
We may not have instigated these deaths,
but we paid for their tickets
to the world beyond.
Cheers to them
who give these signs
of the ends of their time;
ready to snuff away
beautiful memories...
Cheers to them
who leave ricochets
of scars on those
who have learnt to love them.
Cheers to them
who help us remember
that time here is a fleeting beauty.
Cheers to them,
indeed...
indeed..
Read between the lines...
This is not an eulogy...
it's a subtle plea.
©®Whyte Queen5 0
whytequeen
113w
Read More#writing #poeticjustice #poetsofmirakee #poetry #poetrycommunity #poetrycommunityofmirakee #poems #poemvibes #poemsporn #poema #daringdeliciousdairies #mirakeeoet #herheartprotectsherself #herheartpoetrycommunity #writer #herheartpoetry #wordporn #africa #african #africanman #africana #africantales #writingcommunity #writing #shewrites #writersofmirakee #writingit #africanwriters #africanpoet #spilledink #naijawriters #rape #inktober #likeforlike #unravel #share #writerstolli #repost #doortooursouls #qotd #typewriter #writersnetwork @writersnetwork @truthspeaker @writerstolli
Stuck in a Painting
I once fell in love with an artist who wanted to immortalize my frail self.
In his strokes, I was lost.
Every day, we were in his gallery and I'd sit in a position, smiling while he traced his brush on a canvas. In diverse palettes would he bury me.
And when I did die, I did not die. I was alive, stuck in an artist's painting.
I never left his gallery not until his death. I was sold at an exorbitant price and at night, I step out of my painting.
My voice could be heard in the stairs and walls. I would sing for my beloved to come stroke me but the one who immortalized me forgot to immortalize himself.
Now I am stuck, with no where to go but the painting.
Every decade, I find a new home, but never my lover.
©Whyte Queen6 1
-
thinkingoutloud61
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Happy Writing! ♥️
whytequeen
114w
Read More#writing #poeticjustice #poetsofmirakee #poetry #poetrycommunity #poetrycommunityofmirakee #poems #poemvibes #poemsporn #poema #daringdeliciousdairies #mirakeeoet #herheartprotectsherself #herheartpoetrycommunity #writer #herheartpoetry #wordporn #africa #african #africanman #africana #africantales #writingcommunity #writing #shewrites #writersofmirakee #writingit #africanwriters #africanpoet #spilledink #naijawriters #rape #inktober #likeforlike #unravel #share #writerstolli #repost #doortooursouls #qotd #typewriter #writersnetwork @writersnetwork @truthspeaker @writerstolli
Changing the World
*Changing the World*
Who dares say what men
whose loins are heavy with power
dare not utter?
With our pens we vanquish
the foes of our society.
We write the history of truth
and embed in the mausoleum of men's heart.
In verses we chain our souls
so that all men may forever be free.
In stanzas we protest societal ills;
the symphony of change;
we are one body!
We are poets!
The commuters of change....
We make you cry, whilst we bleed ink
our hearts on the surface of papers.
In dirges, we teach the world
to weep for the dead
so that immortals may not
reap the gratification of our miseries.
Aye! Aye!!
We are poets....
changing the world
one line at a time.
©®Whyte Queen4 0
whytequeen
114w
Read More#writing #poeticjustice #poetsofmirakee #poetry #poetrycommunity #poetrycommunityofmirakee #poems #poemvibes #poemsporn #poema #daringdeliciousdairies #mirakeeoet #herheartprotectsherself #herheartpoetrycommunity #writer #herheartpoetry #wordporn #africa #african #africanman #africana #africantales #writingcommunity #writing #shewrites #writersofmirakee #writingit #africanwriters #africanpoet #spilledink #naijawriters #rape #inktober #likeforlike #unravel #share #writerstolli #repost #doortooursouls #qotd #typewriter #writersnetwork @writersnetwork @truthspeaker @writerstolli
Let Us Cry
I am a big fat puddle of lie.
Sitting down in my own mess
every reflection hisses
a broken shadow of me.
I live in a cave
carved by sorrows;
the stony walls are
a graffiti of dereliction.
Still, when I emerge
from the dark,
I steal the rays of sunshine,
allow it to smelt my skin
permitting it not to
graze my heart.
I refuse to take this light
stolen from the streets
from which the winds
hug my shoulders,
trying to drag me
from doom
for if I do....
many things will be revealed....
Like how I am not
truly the me
everyone knows....
Or
Of many demons
unleashed....
Of the horrific pasts
I have enclosed in bottles.
Of those souls
I have abandoned in calabashes.
Of many screaming terrors
waiting to get a hold of me
Once again.
So every night,
I retreat to my
damnation
where I am cursed
to live forever....
©®Whyte Queen7 14 2
- whytequeen @numerous_shades_of_poetry I am sending you a bouquet packed with love and strength. Keep the fight. You're loved by thousands of poets on here. We know the struggle. Who best to relate than we poets? I LOVE YOU and it's no joke. Thank you
-
numerous_shades_of_poetry
so kind of you .. I knw we the poets knew each others pain coz we doesn't knw each other .. we dn see the faces . we feel the struggle by the penned words ..!!
love ! love ! to you - whytequeen @numerous_shades_of_poetry The words is the cord that binds us in love. Let's keep spilling the inks of our hearts...
- whytequeen @numerous_shades_of_poetry The words is the cord that binds us in love. Let's keep spilling the inks of our hearts...
- numerous_shades_of_poetry we surely do ❤❤