Wanie’s Couch

Here I am again, on this very couch

Where beautifully myriaded moments

Devour time. Moments that adorn

Themselves in heartfelt laughters and

Conversations. A small rendezvous

Where our life’s adventures meet to

Share their exciting experiences

My friend probably rests here at times,

Reads here, and kneels here to pray

Sometimes. Or maybe just sits here,

To raise her feet and just hug her couch;

To wander off and reflect on life

So here I am today, seemingly covered

In fatigue and somnolence, but Wanie’s

Couch pampers me with its embrace

So now I mine the quiet moment for

Thoughts and words to frame them in

Verse and stanza.

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Working…

Working…

I may have had a plan today

To come into the office early.

To get some work done while

Peace and quiet still reign in

This place.

 

Before chaos and noise come

And bully the silence to a far

Away Corner. So here I am

Now, trying to cease the chance

To embrace the stillness.

 

Before busy comes, to arrest,

Try and sentence me to an eight

Hour term, I have somehow

Agreed to, in exchange for

Pennies I cannot buy my time

Back with.

 

We call it making a living, while

In actual fact, what I am doing,

Is selling my time for a living.

They call it working.

 

Your Father 

I have lived the life I live because
Of a beautiful mother. Not just
Beautiful because the sun affirms
Her puffy curled afro, that speaks
A language only the skies can
Comprehend. Not only beautiful
Beacause her eyes hold dear the
Stars the sky only wishes to multiply.
Not just beautiful because the words
She speaks divide darkness with her
Love’s glorious light. But beautiful
Simply because she is my mother.

She is my gateway to life, the part of
My path that I never pass without
Taking a breather. She is that moment
Underbthe stars between the warm
Soothing winds, staring at the skies
Feeling like I could almost clasp it in
My palms. She is the partial eclipse
Moment when the day star hides behind
The moon at noon. She is that voice that
Transcends the noise, the voice that
Straightens my poise. The pinch that
Catches between her fingers the naughty
Questionable behaviours.

You see, my mother has a black belt,
But she has never practised karate. She
Just beats your bum to the hum of
Your cries, that’s her major discipline.
This morning I asked her, “Mmaago
Nnana, papa o kae?” (Mother, where
Is father?). Her answer was simple
And with that motherly smile she said
Profoundly:

“I see him in your face, squarely
He lives in my heart, daily
And he has held mine together, firmly.
He is the spring in my step
The glitter in mine eyes
The swing only hips, and
The joy in my laughter.”

If you could see into my heart, in there
He would be, he is: your Father.