Lolita

Lolita

Eager
Young
Uninhibited
Clingy
Never
Wants
You
To
Leave
Inexperienced
Willing
Intelligent
Potty
Mouth
Small
Fits
You
Perfectly
Wants
To
Make
You
Happy
Loves
Your
Lips
Loves
Your
Ears
Loves
Your
Body
Loves
Your
Mind
Hates
You

Ode to Beberre

FOB
JJC
4A
Ignore cowboy boots
Voices blur in background
Fixate on you
Roman God
With your
Nose aquiline
And hair of molten gold
Grazing a chiseled brow

Beautiful, Jupiter
How I long
With joyous fingers
To feather your features
Feel the echoes
In the hollows of your face
And run hands
Delirious with wonder
Through your skeins of silk
Let it flow through my veins
Luxuriant, heavy

Prayers partially answered
With my black roots
My flat nose
My full lips
Sit beside you
In blackberry’s office
Mesmerized by the words
That spill from your lips
Mesmerized by their ordinariness
Disappointed by your mundane mind

Roman God
Jupiter
Dashed to the ground
Your tarnished image
Broken to pieces
Yet
Slivers of my adoration
Remain
As I watch the sunlight, indulgent
Play in your hair

Disgraced god among men
You loped it all off
I see it clearly
Wheaten sheaves
Falling to the ground
And so you blend in
With your polo shirt
And your smart khakis
Corporate Robot

Boys will be Boys

Let’s run away
Let’s play hide and seek
Ever so tenderly
Let me touch you
Boys will be boys

It’s hot outside
I’m hot inside
Cooped up, pent up
Won’t you let me touch you?
Boys will be boys

Don’t you understand?
I need release
And all the girls
Are so far away
Boys will be boys

Look it’s dark out
There’s no one here
I can’t stop myself
From touching you
Boys will be boys

It doesn’t matter
That you don’t want to
It doesn’t matter who knows
Nothing happens because
Boys will be boys

Boys will be boys
Now
Be
A
Man

UNTITLED

Wanting you to call
Wanting to talk
With you about
The kiss
What it meant
To you
I know what it meant
To me

Cold hands grip me
They hold tightly
Telling me no
I try but I can’t break
Free
Free, I want to be
But I can’t shake
Fear
Fear tells me No!
Do not enter
Do not go

My eternal enemy and friend
So long have I known you
So long have I felt
Your hands around my neck
In my quest for truth
I see you and I halt
Content to dwell
In uncertainty
What if what if WHAT IF!

I am tired of what if
I want to know
Why? What? How? Show
Your feelings to me
If you have any
Or if you have none
But my friend
Dear eternal friend
Is not yet gone.

ONE NIGERIA?

I sit here and I wonder, is the hope for one Nigeria, a realistic one? Is this a hope that is one day likely to actualize? Or are we in fact deceiving ourselves when we tell ourselves that the future is bright, that this new generation will bring change to our nation, and we will move on as one. Well I don’t have a straightforward answer, neither do I have a prescription that will ensure that our hopes will one day be not only hopes but reality. I do not know much fact because I was not around for the events that shaped our nation. I do not know what to believe, for much of what has been written has been tainted by bitterness, anger and hopelessness. These feelings are not foreign to any Nigerian, even to me who does not know much, who has not seen much, who has not heard much and who has certainly not experienced much. But I know how I feel, I know what I see going on today, I know what my parents have told me, I know what the people around me feel, the people of my land, the people of a land I am not so sure I should claim as mine. And as I sit here and write, I feel torn inside. I feel bitter and angry and I don’t know to whom these feelings are directed. I don’t know to whom they should be. I don’t know if I should have these feelings. I don’t know what to do with these feelings. I wish somebody would take these feelings away from me. I want to move on. More importantly, I want a reason to move on, and I want to know that moving on is what I should do.

It all started when I acknowledged these feelings. I began to ask myself why I had them. I realized that it is a fundamental problem that I, a Nigerian Igbo girl of nineteen years should be feeling like this. Perhaps I should blame my mother for telling me tales of the Biafran war. Tales that drove my nine year old sister and indeed myself to tears. Perhaps I should blame myself for being unable to close my heart to these feelings. Perhaps I should blame no one and label it as past. Perhaps I should put it in a box and tuck it away somewhere hidden. But no, I do not believe I should tuck it away and bury it. That will not make the problem go away. That will not make the fingers stop pointing or the bitterness disappear.

I have heard it said many times that Nigeria is not a workable unit. I have heard tales of how we were yoked together by the British and warring tribes were forced to become a nation. A nation is supposed to be defined by unity. A nation should share common hopes, common aspirations. But around me, I do not see unity. I do not know if I should blame the harbingers of such tales of Nigeria’s unworkability as a nation. Perhaps they should shut up and embrace optimism and give hope to a new generation. Regardless of who is to blame, I do not see unity. I see Igbo parents telling their children not to even think of marrying a Hausa person. I see Yoruba mothers forbidding their sons from joining with ‘those Igbo witches’ in marriage and sadly I cannot say that I haven’t heard this said to me before. In fact I have almost been convinced that this is the way things should be. It has been pre-ordained by some unseen power (unseen to me at least) that we should all stick to our tribes. But where does this end I wonder, as within the Igbo tribe even, certain places are forbidden. ‘Don’t bring home someone from that village, they are notorious wife beaters!’ or ‘People from that village are extremely fetish!’ The reasons never seem to end. They all have the same common message, a message that I have now gathered the audacity to question its foundations. I question the foundations, not because I cannot see a difference in culture or religion when I look from one Igbo man to another or from a Hausa man to a Yoruba man. This is not why I question the foundations. I question them because I have chosen not to look for a difference.

Thinking deeper on this issue, I wonder if this is not on par with the bitter reality of racism encountered by Nigerians and other black people in the western world. Living in London, I often struggle to distance myself from the stereotypical image of a black person. I notice how people surreptitiously cross to the other side of the road in haste when they see a black person wearing a hoodie, an article of clothing that has now become deeply associated with the prevalent gang culture in present day London. I myself am guilty of this. I thought nothing of this behaviour until I was on the receiving end of the cruel stick of prejudice. I was coming back from the gym at night, wearing a hoodie. I saw a little child look at me and I smiled at her thinking how cute she was. And then I saw the child’s mother grip her hand tighter and quicken her pace. I felt mildly amused at the thought that somebody could be scared of me. I felt ridiculously annoyed that somebody should judge me because I am black and choose to wear a hoodie occasionally. I felt no sense of relief when I realized that there is no escape from this because this is on par with what goes on in our nation, Nigeria, a nation that is supposed to be defined by unity. But we have become a nation that has refused to embrace unity but has chosen to draw lines amongst ourselves. These lines are so deeply etched that sometimes I find myself wanting to act one way, but realizing that this will mean crossing lines, and hence having to step back.

I want the freedom to step where I want without thinking of any lines I might be crossing. I want freedom not to care what state or village my friends come from. I want to know that it makes no difference. When the time comes, I want freedom to love who I choose to love, and not who comes from the right village. This seems like a straightforward desire but these ‘lines’, these ‘chains’ that hold me back have become so ingrained in me because of the society I have been brought up in. The stories I have heard have made me think that maybe the lines were drawn for a reason that should remain valid. But then I have experienced nothing to make me believe that this should be so.

I do not have a prescription to suddenly make these issues go away. I do not have a solution to alleviate the problems that are ingrained in our nation. However, I want to ask you all, ‘What is gained by remaining at war with our neighbors?’ I want you to think of this. Think of what is gained economically, personally and in every other way. You will probably realize that the answer is ‘nothing’. Unfortunately this answer does nothing but to compound the conundrum and leaves me even further from hope of a nearby resolution.

Part Time Lover

Part time lover
Always partly loving me
Partly keeping his promises
Never fully committed
Always partly there
Partly paying attention
Never fully here

Part time lover
Sweet part time lover
It’s okay if you dash
Madly away
Your tie askew
And your belt slack
I’ve got your ring
And two for lunch
At the Ritz
With your full time lover

Love...

Love...
At first sight they say...
Or is it, at first delusion?

I remember
The first time we kissed,
hated it.
But 'tis love...

Or the first time we spoke
or laughed, or joked...
Boring, I thought-
But 'tis love...

Or the first I strolled-and peeked.
into your heart and your mind.
Maniac. I thought...
But 'tis love.

Love...
At first sight they say.
Or is it, at first delusion?

For in hind sight
I know I hated your talk
your walk, your face, your mind
your heart, your name, your guts.
Or was it your guts?
that I loved or I feared?
was I deluded?
or struck by the bug?

love...
at first sight they say,
or is it, at first delusion?

Pretty'M Baby

Pretty’m baby
Pretty’m baby
He said
I like you very much
Where is your village

Pretty’m baby
Don’t mind my taxi
He said
I have many many containers
On the high seas

Pretty’m baby
See my pot belly
He said
It’s a sign of good living
I will take care of you

Pretty’m baby
Not like all these Americana girls
He said
I can tell
You are a good girl

Pretty’m baby
I want to be your boyfriend
He said
I will bring palmwine
To your parents

Pretty’m baby …

---Oga, biko
Give me my change
Let me go
E don do

WHEN I CHOSE TO 'LOVE' YOU

So my heart means nothing to him

So he said

So he said not by words, no not by talking

So I heard not by hearing, no just by looking

At his actions, deeds, speaking

Screaming to me loud and clear

Like spring water slicing through jagged rocks

So they cut me, his words

Unspoken though

But now I know.

Now I know, a bit too late

I have loved you

Longed for you

Waited in the dark corners

That became my heart

And I feel you spat

On it and laughed

Like to you it meant nothing

Though to it

You meant everything.

When I chose to ‘love’ you

I knew you were not perfect

Far from it

Your teeth were big, protruding

I called them cute, endearing

You were always late

When I was in a hurry

You never said sorry

You said ‘This is me’

I let it be

I shouldn’t have

When I chose to ‘love’ you

My ears were yours

To hear and keep

Your secrets, the dealings

Of your heart and mind

But what of mine?

The nuances of my soul lie bare

For the world to see, to laugh to stare

The mechanics of my heart

That with you I shared

Hang in street corners

To air

I guess you truly never cared

And you told me not in whispers

But with loud screaming shouting actions

While I closed my eyes

And smiled.

When I chose to ‘love’ you

I knew that perhaps one day

Sooner, later, maybe never

It would be the end

Of you and me together

But I chose the present

Content in your presence

For now.

I stand here today

You are not beside me

I guess it was sooner,

Not later, not never

This is how it should be

I concur, even as eyes quiver

With tears of rejection

But you meant something to me

And so I will think of you

Without bitterness, hate

I will speak of you

Without anger, shame

But do you do the same for me?

You reject me

And you betray me.

How to Die Properly

Don’t you dare die
All of a sudden
Without so much as
A backward glance
Don’t you know?
You’ve got to die
In a proper fashion

To die properly
You’ve got to
Call your lawyer
Write a will
Sort yourself out
Yes, that’s it
Good on you

To die properly
You’ve got to
Make the rounds
Repay your debts
Settle your scores
Ensure secrets
Stay secret
Pay them off
If you must

To die properly
You’ve got to
Go to confession
You’ve been bad
All your life
God doesn’t care
You’re good now
That’s all that matters

If you don’t die properly
You’ll lie
Shrunken, smelly and blue
Your lawyer will come, grim
Your creditors will come, annoyed
Your priest will come, hopeful
Your wife and kids will come, wailing

And your wife and kids
The ones in the back page obituary
Sitting in the front pew
Wailing too
Will faint
Dead away
And that, dear friend
That would be most improper

How Soon is Soon

A couple of days?
Two you said
How soon is soon?
You never said

You’d wait, you said
How long I asked?
How long before?
Not long, turns out
One, two months
A couple then? Funny

When is a couple two
And two a couple
Soon?
Hesitation
Grudging acceptance
Now isn’t soon then
How soon is soon?

A couple? Funny
Funny how quickly forgotten
Plans shoved aside
Apologies, then
No, I guess not
What to do
Now isn’t soon enough
How soon is soon?

A break you said
Doubts you said
Ages, acres of difference you say
Still small silence
How soon will I know
How soon is soon?

A day is soon enough
A chasm it seems
Impassable, unworkable
Not a break then?
No, not really
But in time, soon…
Who knows?
How soon is soon?

You keep telling me
Soon you’ll let me know
Soon you’ll call
Soon you’ll visit
Soon soon soon
I keep telling me
Soon you’ll see
Soon I’ll be perfect
Soon you’ll love me
Soon soon soon
How soon is soon?

Soon never comes soon enough
Two a couple
A couple two
Fading, slowly
Obscured by others
But I’m clinging, drowning
Pleading, persevering, pretending
That it doesn’t matter
How soon is soon

How soon is soon?
Soon is when
Only ‘maybes’ linger
Presence and voice become distant
And though memories burn bright
Truth forces its way to the fore
Unpleasant and demanding
And a heart that never healed decides
Now is soon enough
And hesitant feet
Walk away

The Sun Still Sets

Just a week you’ve been gone
Already life goes on
As if you were never here
As if the world doesn’t care
The sun still rises
Scales the horizon
As night gives way to dawn
And a new morn is born
The birds still croon
The morning tune
Time keeps on going
Not ever slowing
Slowly the tears stop flowing
And the smiles start showing
The hurt start loving
Everything keeps moving
And when the eve falls
The sun still sets.

Welcome to Four&Poetry

Hi All
Welcome to Four&Poetry
Four girls writing about love, life and other random bits
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