When the walls are closing in on you
and you start to feel more than just a little blue
because you just don't know how you're going to feed them
on the crumpled limited notes in your hand
Or just how you're going to explain to them
That school might just be a time waster
because the economy is going to ***** them over anyways
and have them begging for piece jobs in the blistering sun,
Cry Mama.

Let out a high pitched wail at midnight
and let it be heard all the way from the capital
so they may be woken up from their silk- pampered sleep
Let your voice be a substitute for their conscience
let it keep them up at night.
Let your screams turn their milk sour
Let your cries make their heads ache
Let your weeping fill their tea with tears.
Like Macbeth, they murdered your sleep
So mama, let them know no sleep.

Let your sorrow be heard in your weeping
and your anger be heard in your screams.
Let your wails fly like a dove with a message
to tell them of a future they destroyed
a generation they disappointed
a land they disinherited
a nation they angered
and a mother whose heart they shattered.

I rushed into it, this love thing.
It's my fault, I know, but you.
You were just too awesome a personality to ignore.
Too beautiful a soul not to love
So I crawled and walked and jumped off the edge
And smashed my heart on the rocks real hard.
And now I've got a plaster on my heart.

I fell, how could I not?
I felt my heartbeat racing
I know it could have been the energy drink ,
but you.
You had me thinking it was real thing.
And so I followed  my heart
And the blind thing lead me into a dark alley
where reality and common sense cornered me
And knocked me down from cloud nine
So i landed on my poor little heart
Now i need a plaster for my heart

I wrote some letters for you, silly i know.
But the fire seemed to approve as it ate them all.
I needed to wrap my head around the truth
that you weren't my person and i wasnt yours.
I imagined you here, while i poured out my soul.
You were the paper i was the poetry
To become one all we needed was ink.
But alas it wasn't meant to be.
So you never saw the letters and the words never left my mouth
But the paper, laden with my Shakespearean fantasies of love
It became a plaster for my beaten up heart.

          


They're in my bed and in my head
they hold me when I'm scared
not to comfort or make me feel better
but to let me know they are always with me
Wherever I go, wherever I hide
they're always by my side.

The monsters are so slimy and slick
they hide themselves in my textbooks
disguising themselves as history
and facts and stats when in fact they've distorted
the truth and are using it to trap me
in a live of servitude and poverty
while they spend the fruits of my labour
on voyages to faraway lands filled with splendor.
The monsters are not under my bed
they live in the wings of the patriotic bird.

The monsters live amongst the paperwork
that litters the cupboards in their fort
while their gates keep lost souls out.
They look down on real people
with real dreams and ambitions
and they judge us for our ability
to admit that our current location
has no infrastructure to make a provision
for futures as bright as ours.
The monsters are not under my bed
they inside the insensitive embassies
and call themselves immigration policies.

The monsters were never under my bed
they looked down upon my black face
and decided that poverty was my fate
then they left work and got on a jet
for a vacation in the beautiful land of Sheiks
and expected me to roll over and play dead
but instead like a champion I held up my head
and continued to claim my share
of the wealth they stole from my land
and made them wish they lived under my bed.
while I carried their heads on a stake.

We sit on a rock,
overlooking someone's fields
and pretend we are somewhere far
not just a few blocks away from home
It's Cinderella-like the way it happens.
The lush reeds turn to palm trees
fertile farmlands into sandy beaches
A sad attempt to accomodate our imagination.

I know we have always been too big for this country,
but right now it reeks of desperation.

So we look to the skies for validation
but in the dam we find motivation
from the water that flows without a destination.

"Does it hope to become  river?", we wonder.
If it hopes to grow from it's  current state.
Like a butterfly from a catterpillar.
Is it's movement a show of faith?
That the reeds and plants will open
and clear a path  for it's murky waters.
This is why the dam feels like home:

Though we can't see our reflections,
the dam is able to reflect our ambition
to succeed regardless of our location.

You taught me to be like this
to be physically here and mentally there
You taught me to disappear from the face of the earth when i felt like it
to leave if that's what it takes
To retain my sanity.

You taught me to reflect
on the state of life mid-conversation
To never apologise because reflection
is not a sin and you'd be here
when i came back ready to hear
that I've changed my mind about
everything except you because
i can't bear
To be the intolerant type of person
that subscribes to labels and promotes
fear of love that comes in different shapes, forms and colours.

You taught me to be like this
You taught me to be ever-present but never-visible
You taught me it's okay to feel like this
Like i was shrouded in magic because i was so **** invisible
To everyone else except you because
"My love, this us-thing is not so simple", you said right after the i-love-you or at least i think so
I don't know. I zoned out for a while there but I'm sure you said so.

You taught be like this.
You taught me to hide in the spotlight
Because they can never come for me there.
You taught me to use the bright lights
as a distraction and they would never know that I'm gone you taught me to that dreaming is not only for the night
you said i could do it with my eyes wide open in the broad daylight in the middle of a demanding crowd.

You taught me to leave the way you did you left, but you called it reflection
Of the way things were things are things should be of perception of the way humans are humans should strive to be to be honest i felt like a distraction. Like you were meantfor bigger things than me but i didn't leave because you were a manifestation of everything life should be plus you said it was only "reflection".
And i could do it too because you'd be here when i got back
But you are not here
Why are you not here?
You're not here
Did i not hear you properly?
I'm sure i did.
You're not here and i can't hear the sound of your voice anymore so I'm always absent trying to reach you over there, in my mind.
But don't fault me you showed me this
You taught me to leave and you called it reflection because that's how you saw it i still see it as education
Because you taught me this.

I only became free
when I lost my sense of grammar
when I forgot how to punctuate
and I didn't follow a rhyme scheme.
I let the letters place themselves
and the words chose themselves
the poetry wrote itself
problems solved themselves
my heart healed itself

I became free when I finally learned
that the poetry is not in perfection
but in the broken words that lie on the page
delivered by my ink-stained hands
from a broken soul and an imperfect heart.
I was only free when I realised
that the broken and imperfect words
made up the perfect poem.
Made up the perfect me.

In this badly written love story the wanderers remain wanderers
They do not learn how to say "I'm sorry"
for who and what they are.
They never end up together
or settle down to play happy families.
The wanderers in this love story
stayed wanderers forever.

In this badly written love story
the wanderers never sought to cage
each other in a fancy prison disguised as a home
Wise enough to never forget the feel of freedom they kept the door open and had common sense over for lunch every other day .
Careful not to stifle the flame of love.
They loved when they could and knew to leave when they should.

In this badly written love story the wanderers eventually packed their belongings and differences and wandered far apart.
They set off once again with the wind whispering promises of sweet sweet freedom freedom in their ears.
They did not look back before they disappeared from view
or try to follow the other one.
No. Our wanderers looked straight ahead as the wind attempted and failed to wipe away their tears and did not once complain as he led them away from their lover's arms and into freedom's embrace.
And from freedom's embrace to the new lover.
And when they arrived they did not once try to alter this new love to look like the last one
nor did they try to fix this new wanderer to match the last one.
They simply learned what love had to teach
and got up when it was time to leave.
The wanderers love story did not stop with each other it continued on through the both of them.

Freedom being their ultimate goal they did not hesitate when she called them out of theirbeds at 3am in the morning for an adventure.
Nor did they refuse to partake of the new love she had prepared for them even though the love they shared was still lingering on their tongues.
The aftertaste interrupting and ruining the taste of this new experience.
Instead they tried to remember the time when freedom was the only thing that had tasted so sweet and tried to forget the feel of each other's hands as they reluctantly let go that last time.
The wanderers hoped against hope that freedom could not hear their sniffles as they tried to remember when life had gotten so lonely.
They feared she would take offence and leave them with naught but half of a broken heart and these useless material belongings.
  
In this badly written love story the wanderers did not turn back to each other and claim their happy ever after
but instead they buried their heads in Mama Freedom's chest and let out a gasp everytime their hearts clenched so hard they couldn't breathe anymore and let her rub their backs while breathing in her sweet soothing presence.

Comforted by the thought  that she was doing the same thing for the both of them they let her help them move on.

I wasn't going to say anything to you
because I really don't know what i felt just then.
When you looked my way
and I choked on my words,
and the butterflies started all over again.
Till, seconds later, you looked away
and eventually I could breathe again.
But since I'm up so late at night.....
I think I'll go ahead and give it a try.

I wasn't going to say anything to you
because I knew you'd never really understand,
what it's like to practice the conversation in my head
because I really don't know how to talk to you.
And then to fail miserably, as always,
because I can never really relax with you
and I can never find the right thing to say.
But since I'm up so late at night.......
I can try to make you see things my way.

I wasn't going to say anything to you
because though I hoped that I'm not alone in this
and that this freaks you out as much as it does me,
I didn't want you to know that I care
and that I sometimes stare at the back of your head
to see if I can eventually figure out
what it is about you that keeps my head in the clouds.
I didn't want to bare my soul
and have you break me when you say no.
But since I'm up this late at night........
not saying anything just wouldn't feel right.

Scribble your memories on the back of my hand
So they're always there when I need them
When the road's unclear and the coast is flooded
And I'm not sure which way leads to trouble
Because I know you've been here before
and you managed to get back to the shore

I want to walk in the path you cleared
and I wish you were here to show me
Because I'm alone and blinded by fear
Fear of the monsters that scarred your beautiful skin

and I wonder how you did it without being afraid.
Or how you even managed to get over it all
How did you muster up the courage to fight
when the competition was clearly unfair?
How were you so sure you would avoid the rocks this time?
when you had hit them a million times before
Where did you get the strength to stand
After life had just knocked the wind out of you?

But I'm grateful all the same
Because for all the quests I'm yet to go on
and all the dragons I'm yet to slay
I owe it to the path you cleared with your sword

And I wish I could say I won't fail
But I know that you know me too well
and I can only promise to try again each time.
So scribble your memories on the back of my hand, ma
and I'll use them as a map, instead of the silly stars
And unlike them I know you won't lose me
Because the fight you fought was all for me
So that I can earn my victory like a true Queen.

My strength

It is not in the bulges  of muscles
hidden under my sweater
or in the droplets of sweat
you can see on my forehead.
My strength.
It is not in the jiggle of my
*******, on a braless noon
or in the flexibility of my waist
as I sway my hips
on a summer night's stroll.
My strength.
It is in the rotation of my wrist
the bend of my fingers
the position of my elbows
the flow in my pen
as I write this poem.
My strength.
Is on the smile on your face
As you read this.

When you looked into her eyes
you saw that she was shy.
So you started telling lies
and making her feel alive.
For a while you thrived
because she was not too wise
and she fed your apetite
for what was between her thighs.
But the more she analysed
and the more she rationalized,
the more she realized
that you were just one big lie.
And even though on the inside,
she felt like she had died.
she let her pain solidify
so you could never see her cry.

Your kind of love is different
It is peace and serenity in the midst of insecurity
it is wisdom in silence and always selfless.
While others slay the dragons with their swords
You lull them to sleep then gently lay them at your feet.

I feel the violence and war in other people's souls
I hear their raging battles even before they speak

But when I see you  so safe and secure
while the angry storm rages all around you
Your beatiful soul radiating peace and love
I feel myself drawing closer and closer
till you wrap your arms around my shivering heart
and their warmth chases the cold reality away
and I am free to lay my head on your chest
for as long as my battered body needs to rest

And that's where I decide to make my home
In your beautiful , tranquil house of peace.

Lost in a whirlwind
Of confusion and agony
I squinted my eyes hard
But I still couldn't see the good
In three years worth of labor.
I looked up, blinked back the waterfall
That threatened my daytime visage
Of courage and strength.
My eyes were full of tears
My vision was blurred and unfocused
A tight ball was locked in my throat
The pain multiplied in my chest.
So I let the tears fall
I welcomed  them
For they were a translation of my pain
My frustration and anger in liquid form
I crawled onto the cold  floor
Curled myself into a ball
Hugged myself, then healed myself.
All the while my tears were falling.