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COMRADE LOVE NEEDED

Sorrow of Love is hard to bear
stretches my bones and
I cannot go on

A need for comrades
to speak about Love
lost their ability to love
can only love for moments

When these moments come
they devour them like
rare chocolate
not enjoying them

My comrades have physical
beauty, Spirit beauty I doubt
they question commitment and honesty
it is their own they question

We do not need hate to be
involved in the Struggle for Truth
We need Love

I see comrades becoming mechanical
we strive for a Distant Star
that Star beckons with Love
Comrades !

Love is needed !

©GhairoDanielsPoetry
Bellville,SA 1980


(This little poem was written when I was 18yrs old as a young student activist at the University of the Western Cape,SA. I subsequently read it at mass meetings at high schools throughout the province, as part of the student insurrection, enthralling high school pupils. Then, of course I could read it with a lot of fire. I understand that it is a channelled poem as I wrote it in 5mins flat during an activist meeting)
Comrade Love South African History student activism University of the Western Cape student insurrection apartheid
"You are neither here nor there,  
How can you be successful?"—a voice in the air.  
It muttered once, but I heard it thrice,  
A haunting echo, not so nice.  

I reflect deep—could this be me?  
Is it instinct or a mind not free?  
Am I imagining things in vain?  
But he is right, and I feel the strain.  

Jack of all trade and master of none,  
But one who masters will inspire someone.  
Too many tasks leave all half done,  
While one at a time brings work well spun.  

All in one is same as nothing,  
But one in one births everything.  
I do not write this to condemn,  
You can succeed with more than ten.  

But purpose and vision must lead the way,  
Without them, you’re a leaf that sways.  
A man without vision is like a trash,  
Waved by the wind in a reckless dash.  

I’m glad I’ve found my voice at last,  
Through Poetry, wisdom shall be cast.
“The Voice That Spoke” is a soul-searching poem by Nigerian poet Osahenoma Favour Moses, born from a moment of internal reckoning. It begins with a haunting voice—an echo of doubt—that challenges the poet’s scattered pursuits across multiple creative paths: acting, preaching, storytelling, and poetry. Through rhythmic reflection and layered wisdom, the poem explores the tension between versatility and focus, urging readers to discover their true calling and nurture it with purpose.

This piece is more than a confession—it’s a call to clarity. It speaks to anyone who feels stretched thin by ambition, reminding them that success is not in doing everything, but in doing something well. With poetic precision, Favour casts light on the importance of vision, identity, and intentional growth.

“The Voice That Spoke” is part of his growing body of work known as Wisdom in Poetry—a genre where truth meets verse, and insight flows through rhythm.
Osaro is in iron prison,
Drowning in deep river of pain,
Seeking for an escape route,
None found.
Can't speak.
But painfully cries at heart,
Thinking of the glue joining him to hot ***.
His sugar cause him this bitter moment.
His joy makes him cry all day.
He gives her milk.
She demands for honey,
Directly from bee,
Good for her system.
He gives her honey.
She demands for sugar,
Sweeter than honey.
Sugary river expands love,
So her love will flow like sweet river.
He gives her sugar.
"No," she says,
She wants the provisions of fruits, juice and food,
So she can be a leaf.
He makes these ready.
She then demands for mansion,
Containing meal and fun.
That will suffice her.
He bond himself (in debt),
And hands her the key
To her mansion,
Beautiful like the garden of Eden.
She says, "No! Why will I be among the least?
I want an estate,
Not small,
But vaster than an empire."
He bonds himself,
Sells his siblings,
Robs,
And sells all his acquaintances.
And buys an estate for her.
Still yet, she envies,
Jealous all day.
Listens to air.
Sees the world (on Instagram).
Though among the top,
She wants to be the very top.
She then demands for the whole world.
Perplexed and Overwhelmed.
Frustrated and swimming in a pool of thought.
Osaro doesn't know what to do.
He is now a bondman.
He gained nothing in all,
And he had lost all.
All works on woman.
No reward, no profit.
His loss is her gain.
In frustration, he brings out a knife,
And hands it to his delight:
"Since I can't satisfy you,
I present my head
As a living sacrifice.
Take it,
And have the whole world."
A powerful narrative poem exploring the destructive cycle of endless desire and self-sacrifice in relationships.

"MR. OSARO" tells the tragic story of a man trapped in an ever-escalating cycle of giving, where no gesture of love is ever enough. Through vivid metaphors and progressive imagery, the poem chronicles Osaro's journey from simple acts of care—offering milk, honey, and sugar—to increasingly desperate sacrifices that consume his entire existence.

The poem serves as a cautionary tale about toxic relationship dynamics, examining themes of:
- Insatiable desire and the impossibility of fulfilling endless demands
- Self-destruction through excessive giving and people-pleasing
- Modern materialism and social media-driven comparisons
- The cost of unconditional sacrifice without reciprocation
- Identity loss in the pursuit of another's happiness

Written in free verse with a haunting progression, the poem builds tension through its escalating demands—from simple provisions to mansions, estates, and ultimately "the whole world." The biblical undertones and sacrificial imagery create a powerful commentary on love, loss, and the human condition.

This piece will resonate with readers who have experienced or witnessed relationships where giving becomes a prison, and love transforms into a burden that ultimately destroys rather than nurtures.

Genre: Contemporary Poetry, Social Commentary, Relationship Drama  
Themes: Love, Sacrifice, Materialism, Identity, Self-Destruction  
Tone: Melancholic, Cautionary, Tragic
There's a riot behind my ribs
a symphony of shattered thoughts
conducted by anxiety
in a room with no doors.

I wear silence like armor,
but inside-
drums beat with no rhythm,
memories clash like cymbals
and fear hums like a distant engine
that never runs out of gas.

Voices I never invited
shout louder than the ones I need.
They argue in my mind
like lawyers with no case,
pleading guilty to crimes I didn't
commit.

I laugh at the wrong times,
not because I'm happy-
but because laughter is louder
than the screaming
no one else can hear.

Some nights,
the noise is so loud,
I pray for sleep to come
like static to a broken radio.
Not to fix it-
just to blur it out.

But every morning,
I wake to the same frequency-
a mind wired wrong,
but still tuned in.
A piece from my latest book on Amazon named Letters from Silence
An ink
  on a paper
  is more than just a writing
  but an expression
  of human words
  Creativity, love
  Creative African Ink
Joseph C Ogbonna Oct 2023
I am a *****
I say it with pride
I cannot my colour hide
its radiant blackness does glow.
I am tropically designed,
and from taunts I am resigned.
I love my natural label,
it rings my pride like a bell.
My frame is black and lovely,
I am feminine and curvy.
My rare Baartman's curves are awesome,
despite my colour being 'loathsome.'
My labour in the scorching field
was worth a trans-Atlantic risk.
I enriched the west with my yield.
My hard labour did slip my disc.
I am Africa's black gold,
and on this heritage I hold.
I am black and proudly so,
that is who I am, a *****!!
Black Pride
Khadijat Bello May 2023
First, let me start by Greeting you in Twi, "memawo akye" in Kumasi
And back to my home land, I say to you, "Yene"! in Ebira
"Habri za asubuhi"! from Swahill
Ina kwana in Hausa
Emesiere! in Ibibibo
ụtụtụ ọma! in Igbo
Africa, the home of one third of the world's languages
Here I am telling you Djam walli!  in Fulfulde
Nigeria is a power house of over 500 languages
I say Kube lazhin! Nupe
U nder vee! in Tiv
Manao ahoana! in Malagasy language
Ojobe in Boki
Africa! My home continent, where some languages are foreign to most.
West Africa, my land region the Zone of the Giant of Africa.
Nigeria, my Father land! I say to you Good morning in different dialect.
Telling my own Africa story by Greeting you all Good Morning in different African dialects.
Odd Odyssey Poet Dec 2022
They sodomise my eyes
Penetrating ill content
Sickening imagery—cauterise an African man’s pride
Categorize me in a dark corner of their globe

How so the world spins
But we are to turn our eyes the other way
If not forced to conform to their ways, their ways confirm
We’re shunned from their perfect world

They created diseases to charge their victims of a cure
Stole the wealth of our land, to sell an end product labelled new
If only we knew the threat we pose, as they’ve always known
Placing bonds of pricey chains of, “hey I’ve got the latest iPhone”
Leading us to scorn our own kind; a few softwares behind,
“eek, your version is so old”

****** virgins/versions;
Non experienced in their translation of purpose
If said the future is only possible if we all connect
I guess we’re the ones always out of service
To conform to your ways to guarantee your service
—Are we your servants
Carrying the destruction of your wars like surrogates

To the outer world
That believes I still live outside
Fascinated whenever I see a white
Those of my whites from Africa somewhat more relatable
To my struggles, than an African American
Supposedly my brother from another mother

No, no, my dearest brother, you have Africa in title
But not inside of you. We weren’t taught by the same mother
We didn’t go through the same hardships
We’re more like distant cousins
Who only seem to relate by our skin colours
Even though you’d see me as different,
Though being much darker

To the outer world; altering my nation to your outer works
                  I’m sorry, but I can’t live in your perfect world
Lesego Mashaba Nov 2022
In a world where myths are real I got to see what I still don’t believe
MY BEAUTIFUL BLACK KING
I always felt as though something was missing
Thinking through it all in hopes of discovering all that newly felt void
Where I endured it all through those hard times for I knew that they’ll be far past and behind
MY BEAUTIFUL BLACK KING
Unlike many of the people out there I don’t have a president
I have a king
I crown him with my words and grace him with a cloak made of love
MY BEAUTIFUL BLACK KING
A man so fine
My dear
A triple treat
MY BEAUTIFUL BLACK KING
Just like Shakespeare’s theatrical works
For as long as you want to play my hand is yours to take
Bring.Me.Love
And just like the mirror mirror on the wall I will reflect love right back to you
MY BEAUTIFUL BLACK KING
Not once did I think I’d be writing with deep sensual ink
But then I remembered
I didn’t just simply fall onto the terra of your love
Like an ocean I dived headfirst into the waves of you
And that’s when I knew…
MY BEAUTIFUL BLACK KING
If I were to love I’d love you as the whole universe and not just a part of it
In the middle of my middle and in the mystery of a myth..
MY BEAUTIFUL BLACK KING
I’m glad I couldn’t save myself from drowning in the waters of you
For they say fates determined by the sea
And I know I was destined to be
A Queen to my king
MY BEAUTIFUL BLACK KING
birdy May 2022
only a quarter
my roots go back shorter
my fourth diminished
by history left unfinished

others blame
saying you’re ashamed
they want that quarter to know fame
they care for your ethnic name

but your skin is still fair
all is white except your hair
and you don't get stares
but your father does --- its so unfair
I am 75% European and 25% African. Many people either dismiss my African quarter entirely, or focus on it too much --- pretending as if I am not white passing. Growing up with a mixed father who looks distinctively African children said many strange things to me. Many people thought I was adopted or called me a grey baby, and insulted my only African feature --- my curly hair. Non-black people felt comfortable enough with me to discuss their racism, and basically ask for reassurance or forgiveness.
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