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When I close my eyes

You haunt my oblivion;

Your non-residence in my life –

A nightmare to live by.

How our galaxies collided,

I’m dumbfounded.

Yet I melt each passing day

With acidic tears.

Sad to say,

I’m down in the river

but unable to drown.

 

 

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Nature’s Besty

I’m nature’s best friend.
I hear her singing in every raindrop.
I see her beauty in every bead of sweat poured by intense sunshine.

We hold hands, even in the shower-
every pearl cascading through my body is a beautiful sign of better things to come.

©®Whyte Queen

Death

Have you seen grief?
I’ve seen her in several shades.
In the eyes of a mother
that her lost eyes makes me want to cry too.

Grief takes us to unbelievable places;
places where our realities are massacred
and withdrawn, like they never existed.

In the eyes of the broken
are fragments of a tale once told
with passion and embers.

Grief takes us to a world broken
by untruths and smothered by tears.
Grief indeed, wears many an apparel.
Sometimes dark..
At other times, blue…
That the pain just sits there and burn
and burn, and continues burning.
Sometimes too, you can’t even cry
because the tears are stuck in a lump.

Sometimes, you can’t mourn,
for this truth took a terrible turn
into the wilderness of utter shock.
Like mom packed her suitcase
to leave, eternally, I find myself
holding on to her hands,
feeling cold…

Her world is hers now and mine is mine.
We don’t belong together anymore.
But my little soul refuses to accept this fate.
Such is grief, people of the world.

People say they can’t see her
but I can and I have also felt her.
How do I unsee her?
For she plagues my heart
with threats of love been forgotten and impending fear!

©®Whyte Queen

Midnight Poet

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Crickets a’ chirping
Frogs a’ croaking
Bushdogs a’ barking
My hands are dancing.

For by day, I’m a nobody
But at twilight, like a werewolf
words come alive.
Strong lines, sweet verses and rhymes
I begin to transform.
I am a poet,
not by descent
but by an inborn
love for languages
which are spoken
by a mute pen.

©®Whyte Queen 2018

Yours Ever

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I’m your bunch of radiance;
that breeze that never
escapes your back;
that sun that will never
cease to warm you up
in the coldest winter;
that tiny footpath which
leads you from the
wilderness of wounds
into the rainforest of
dews and greenery.

Those starry-eyed stars
that light up your night;
those ripples in water
that soothes your soul;
that rainbow streak across
your sky of bleakness
to remind you of
better things to come.

I am all that you see.
All that you’ll ever be.

Unapologetically Feminine

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I am unapologetically fierce-
no matter what anyone says.
My heart is etched in my sleeves
so when you attempt to hit my chest
there would only be a resounding emptiness that echoes defeat back to you.

I am unashamedly emphatic;
a woman who knows well her worth.

I’m sorry that I’m not sorry
that I know who I am.

Sorry I’m not sorry that
I ride like a man in all my femininity.

Sorry but I’m not quite sorry
that I’m as defiant as a man.

Sorry but not so sorry
that I’ve captured fear in my
damp and dark prison and let it rot there.

I remain unapologetic.

TRY NOT TO CRY

Try not to cry
for they are born
with no hope but pain;
to make you and I
a complete nation.
Crying their way into the world;
Tears which brings joy to some.

To a few,
these little cries
are the beginning of
rejection and shame.
For they are conceived in abomination
But they in themselves
are not abominable.
Not before the Creator
but before those
who could not
create a life
or zip their pants.

Try not to cry
when I describe
these horrific events;
When I tell you
this cruel fate
is being decided
right now
on a bed
so defiled with fornication.

Try not to cry
when they are rejected
and denied by their fathers
or when their mommas
make that fatal decision.

In ferocious finality, they rant
“why bring a life
you can’t keep?”
But try not to cry
when I tell you
The untold sins
committed by them.

Try not to cry
when I say
those snuffed out little lives were eager to see this wicked world.

Try not to cry
when I tell you
they were flushed away
with putrid pills
or uprooted
with formidable forceps.

Try not to cry
as their bloody remains are abandoned on a pan
and packaged
in a polythene bag.

Try not to cry
as they scream
“It’s too cold out here”
or “I promise to be a good child,
just let me exist”
Amidst poking and pulling
From their embryonic warmth.

Try not to cry
when you find them,
covered in blood;
blood which ought
to have protected them.

Try not to cry
but tell the young ones
to zip up.
Tell them
not to eat the food
meant for elders.

Tell them
to reconsider pain
before pleasure.
Sing the consequences to them.
Teach them the dance steps of abstinence and protection.

Above all,
try not to cry
for I tell you
these little ones
rest in the garden of rebirth
awaiting the right arms
to be born again into.
But ye who have committed this grave transgression-
What shall be your plough?

Blooms

Pleasures grow in my garden
in forever sprouts.
Where my feet may fall,
you shall find little blooms
that adds spark to your soul.
Everything single little thing
is useful to me.
I find joy
in the most meaningless things
For joy is in my bosom
and therein shall it
dwell and swell
forever
even as my smiles
dazzle you.

I want to be a sunflower
with soothing scent
to be spent on you.
To bathe you with freshness
that finds you lost
in my tend.
and whole in my arms.

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