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For as long as I can remember,
the women of my family have lived
in hunger like hulking tigers in a cramped cage.
Love is quickly used up, its quality fading
from golden light into grainy shadows
flicked haphazardly across God’s great canvas.
After Love departs, nothing remains but
the splinters where we have torn away limbs
and dug holes in search of that light again,
the flecks of gold streaked through our hair,
the ones that know better than revisit our homes.
When we give up, we sit in our drab backyards
to watch the sun sink over a police state
masquerading as the ultimate state of grace.
We tuck our freedoms into bed, kiss our sacred rights
goodnight in case we never get the chance
to lead by the hand into the light of day,
and sneak back down to the kitchen for one last snack,
maybe two. Maybe more, maybe our mouths
wait in secret to transform into one bottomless pit
as we reach with every breath we take for something
we have always known and long since learned
we’ll never be able to grasp in our earthly fingers.
Thank you for reading. If you liked this poem, you'll probably like these:
Carlo C Gomez Apr 26
In her sulking-place
alone and naked

framed in soft sepia
—the vintage, harlequin hue

at this supposed faded hour
she sits looking back on memory

she sits and stares
into the boudoir mirror

at herself
at her embonpoint

yes, at these *******
—at their landscape

how they fall
(like Niagara)

where they point
(like a compass)

what they tell (so fondly)
when pressed together

about their time
—their work and play

towers on the precipice
of judgment

both callous and

if the mirror
truly be her reflection

her vision is turned around
as illusion

—a study of tonality and tolerance
for one's own flesh

the room
an invitation

or perhaps
a lockaway

where she even keeps secrets
from herself

avenoir - n. the desire that memory could flow backward
SS Mar 24
they say i came from Adams rib
I am a woman of mud and marrow
God told you
She will leave a scar
God told you
She will not come cleanly
You told me
Fold nice  
You told me
Fold neat and
Be mine
I took my clay ribs and
made them my home  
I prayed to the divine and
the oh so ungodly
Until the Serpent came
Adam do you know that
I won’t let you eat my
Heart in full unless
I’m sure the taste of sin
Will forever stain your lips
Whispers I sent out to dawn latched
on to the solitary sun to trail
the arc of a common time
in a sky the hue of gold in grass.
The land leans on the baobab
in a dust storm of wheels and lenses.
Wheels and lenses.

When the dust settles, I will dust
my shuka and the goats will return
home, to comfort my eyes that flow
the spate of the Great Ruaha,
seeping secretly into the baobab
I have chores to do, a shuka to ****.
A shuka to ****.

Will they buy the beads I strung
as I rocked Naeku on my back,
to make circles of day and circles
of night, as wide as the baobab,
in the colour of clouds, the colour of sky.
There's colour to stars in a darkened night.
A darkened night.

Killeleshua is fragrant in thousand leaves
Am I not worth more than thirteen Zebu?
The watering hole was flecked in hippos
and the firewood is the colour of dusk
abundantly generous as the baobab
Time, a viscous passing of the sweetest honey.
The sweetest honey.
It was in the Ruaha region of Tanzania that a Maasai woman kindly agreed to pose for a photograph. I do not recollect her name now but in every photo, she appeared to be in shy contemplation. Here is one in which she leans against the baobob, while adorned in the collar jewellery that the Maasai are also known for. I wrote a poem for her, to her graceful beauty; serenely contemplative she appears.


Zebu cattle ~ Maasai cattle that are well adapted to semi arid conditions. Bride price or dowry is set in cattle and paid to the family of the bride.

Killeleshua [1] [Tarchonanthus camphoratus L.]~ A plant the leaves of which are used in bedding or as a deodorant or for fragrance. It smells really lovely.

Shuka ~ garment worn by Maasai, an adaptation of the Scottish tartan

Baobab [2]~ Adansonia digitata, most long lived of the vascular plants and dots the savannas of Africa. Baobab wood has a high water content (up to 79%) and low wood density (0.09-0.17 g · cm(-3)).

Naeku [3] ~ Born in the early morning, the name of a Maasai girl born at dawn

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Today I was,
Emptiness swirling in the wind,
My heart blossomed.
Misunderstood and unprecedented,
Timid, easily labelled careless.

Your typical wallflower,
Camouflage made her invisible.
She didn't decide herself,
She was named.

Today I am,
A fierce Juliet rose,
A charming dead nettle,
Climbed her way up, untouchable.

Your typical woman.
Whose histamine dilates vessels,
She bears herself,
Raw and selfless.
By my name,
I name her.
Dutch version:

Zij bevalt

Vandaag was ik,
Een leegte in de wind,
Mijn hart bloeide.
Onbegrepen en ongehoord,
Timide, achteloos gelabeld.

Typische muurbloem,
Onzichtbaar door schutkleuren.
Zij besloot niet,
Zij werd genoemd.

Vandaag ben ik,
Een wilde Juliet-roos,
Een charmante dovenetel,
Omhoog geklommen en onaantastbaar.

Typische vrouw.
Wiens histamine men dol maakt,
Zij bevalt haarzelf,
Ruw en onbaatzuchtig.
Bij mijn naam,
Noem ik haar.
Gods1son Apr 17
Women are very strong and powerful
No one can convince or confuse me
to think otherwise

I think Nature is not very nice to her
When she chooses to not fertilize her eggs,
she goes through pain every month
When she fertilizes her eggs, she has
to deal with changes in her body for
nine months. And then, childbirth pain.

Even the society is not very nice to her
If she's qualified for the job,
give her an equal chance
And pay her what she truly deserves
Also recognize her for her hardwork
But we know that's not how it goes

Against all odds, she still stands strong
Lots of accomplishments in this world wouldn't have been possible without her
Without her, the entire society will fall to the ground

Let's give her the respect and
credit she deserves.
Duckie Apr 10
I awoke unhinged, just as the curtain in the back room,
The pale blue reminded me of what the sky could be,
When it didn’t look like gloom.
Single fabric rippled against a windowpane,
Mocking me in my solitude,
Ridicule for my foul mood.
Their twin horrified,
Scrutinising during a manic moment,
Keeping themselves securely tied.
I’m sure they look down on me as well as their sister,
The pair of us once neatly laced, now dishevelled-
Result of a nasty hormone blister.
But their sister and I
Bathe in different consequences,
My being suffers from the inevitable expenses.
I sink, I don’t float.
I seethe, I don’t sway.
I’m real, I’m forced to feel.
The curtain has no eye that aches,
No grease ridden hair, or skin that flakes.
The curtain can easily be pushed back in place,
Unfortunately, with me, that fails to be the case.
Make my bed the mantle and crown
My women studded gems on the eider and down

I'll make rubys and jets and opals my pets
A sticker the slipper that wicker wets
MoonFlow Apr 13
There is a woman,
With heaven underneath her feet.
When I take a glimpse of her eyes,
I forget about the stars.
For the twinkle of her eyes is better than that of stars.
When I gaze at her lips,
I forget about the crimson of roses,
For her lips are far rosier .
When I hear her laugh,
I forget about the nightingale.
For her voice is far too merry.
But do you know who this woman is?
She is Mama the Marvelous.
Feel free to use this piece for your mums.
Girl with rainbows in her eyes and stories in her smile.
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