Poverty

Poverty love is the most romantic.

He had nothing and because of that he gave his love.

For him this saying holds no truth,

“You are rich, yet you want to be loved as if you are poor.”

For him, he was poor but loved as if he knew no hunger;

as if he knew no poverty.

Countless hours, for days we were never granted,

were spent chatting.

Caressing the thought of time stopping and staying

for a day or two in each others arms.

Kissing away our doubts as the day came too quickly to an end;

As darkness quickly surrounded us.

I was reminded that he was poor.

That his love, molded by poverty came at a price.

Because for him to maintain the little he has he must work;

He must earn in order to sustain.

But did I need his money?

No.

His money met nothing to me for his love was the sweetest I ever tasted.

The love of a poor man was indeed my greatest riches.

(inspired by the film “Queen of Hearts”)

To Reign

I reign as his queen yet

he fails to recollect the sound of my voice.

Our distance is truly great yet

when he calls for me a smile appears.

This isn’t love.

Just the beginning stages of infatuation.

Will it lead to lust?

Only time will tell of our tale.

I reign as his queen yet

we’ve only touched once.

The sun slept as the stars danced

and the ideas of possibilities lingered in the night sky.

This isn’t love.

Just the beginning stages of infatuation.

Will it lead to lust?

Only time will tell of our tale.

I reign as his queen yet

he knows nothing about me.

He knows not my history.

He knows not my aspirations.

He knows not my fears.

He knows not my concerns.

He knows not my moods.

He knows not my family.

He knows not me.

And yet.

And yet.

I continue to reign as his queen.

But does he reign as my king?

Well, this isn’t love.

Just the beginning stages of infatuation.

But could it lead to something more?

Only time will tell of our tale.

#55years

Green and white runs through my veins and
yet when I open my eyes all I see is
red, white, and blue.

I am Nigeria.
I am America.
I am a Nigerian-American.

Akwa Ibom hear me,
I scream for you.

Nigeria see me,
I cry for you.

Georgia feel me,
there are days that I long for you.

America taste me,
do you taste that sweat?

I have given you my blood and sweat but
my tears, both happiness and despair,
are for Naija land.

55 years,
55 years,
#55years.

Stay strong,
stay beautiful,
stay Nigeria.

Continue to
be one.

In 55 years war has ensued,
#Biafra.

In 55 years disappearances have ensued,
#BringBackOurGirls.

In 55 years peaceful elections
have occurred,
#KeepNigeriaOne.

Nigeria Ohh!
Across the Atlantic I stand for you,
across the Atlantic I pray for you.

Decades have passed since I have
felt your landscape underneath
my feet.
The time will come when I will
stand on you once more.

Naija stay ONE.
We are all one
under God.

Nigeria continue to be,
continue to be
the white & the green.

                                             Photo credit: Naija Connect

Dear Old Black Joe

Dear Old Black Joe,

Did you know the root to your demise is money?

It's bondage have left you tied to lies that reveal an on-going truth:
running from slavery will always be your relay.

I know the white man may seem like the problem
and sometimes they were.
But when we look past him and see the desire for power
we also see the love of money.

"King Cotton!
King Cotton!
King Cotton!"

Here the ringing of
our slave bell Old Black Joe.

Though the song is different, the bell still resonates at full capacity.

And now, even to this day, we are
proud of our chains.
Not because the white man said we should be but
because we see money in these chains.

Money in chains,
Chains in money.

Money in chains,
Chains in money.

Money in chains,
Chains in money.

Money in chains,
Chains in money.

Money in chains,
Chains in money.

I suppose we have something
in common with our colonial brethren.

You see Old Black Joe,
that's the melody of our slave bell.
Now I see that it sounds like yours
but only slightly different.

I know I'm fooling myself by saying it's different
because we own the chains, but I don't think I can handle
the scariest reality: That I am choosing to be a slave...

A century has gone and still
time has managed to change into nothing at all.

DEAR MR. JUDGE

IF I HAD TO CHOOSE BETWEEN MY DAD AND PRISON, I WOULD CHOOSE MY DAD EVERYTIME.

I LOVE MY DAD. HE'S NOT A BAD PERSON, JUST A BLACK MAN WHO FOUND HIMSELF IN A BAD SITUATION. SOMETIMES HIS BAD SITUATION WAS LIFE, SOMETIMES SOCIETY, OR SOMETIMES BOTH.

YES HE HAS KILLED AND HE HAS ROBBED BUT NOT FOR HIS SAKE BUT FOR MINE. I AM HIS CHILD, IS THERE A CUT OFF PERIOD OF HIS LOVE?

HE ACTS OUT BECAUSE THAT'S THE TYPE OF LOVE HE HAS BEEN TAUGHT.

I WOULD HERE STORIES ABOUT HIM FROM ABUELA AND SEE PICTURES OF INNOCENCE.
BUT THEN IT ALL CHANGED WHEN HE SAW HIS FATHER BEHIND BARS. FROM THAT POINT ON HIS MANHOOD WAS DEFINED BY AN ENVIRONMENT WHERE HATRED AND HARM BREEDS.

HIS FATHER LOVED HIM AND WHEN HE SAW HIM IMPRISONED, TO HIM BEING A BLACK MAN EQUATED BEING A CRIMINAL. HE COULDN'T ESCAPE HIS FATE SO HE EMBRACED IT. 

MR. JUDGE IT'S NOT ALL HIS FAULT AS YOU YOU CAN SEE; WE CHOOSE TO BE WHAT WE SEE AND SOME OF US ARE WEAK AND OUR SITUATIONS TAKE ADVANTAGE OF THAT. 

BUT YOU'VE PLAYED A ROLE AS WELL. YOU SAW A CRIMINAL BECAUSE OF THE COLOR OF HIS SKIN, ALL BECAUSE IT WAS DIFFERENT THAN YOURS. WE BOTH SEE AN OPPORTUNITY ALTHOUGH THESE OPPORTUNITIES RESIDE ON OPPOSITE SPECTRUMS; I SEE AN OPPORTUNITY OF HAVING A FATHER WHEREAS YOU SEE AN OPPORTUNITY OF SILENCING YOUR ENEMIES.

AND NOW WHAT ME AND MY FELLOW FATHERLESS CHILDREN HAVE IN OUR NEIGHBORHOODS ARE GOOD MAN CAUGHT IN BAD SITUATIONS WHO ARE VIEWED AS DEGENERATES TO OTHERS. BUT TO US WE JUST SEE OUR DAD.

SO IF I HAD TO CHOOSE BETWEEN MY DAD AND PRISON, I WOULD CHOOSE MY DAD EVERYTIME.



SINCERELY, 
A ROBBED CHILD

A Sunday Kind of Day

On Sunday God was having a house party. An hour and 30 minutes in, I received a message.  I told Jesus I was heading out but would be back soon. He seemed sad but understood. That was 5 years ago.

I would see Jesus from time to time around the neighborhood and he seemed happy but we never spoke after that Sunday.

One night though we bumped into each other at the convenience store/ gas station. He was buying some water and I was struggling to buy cigarettes with the little change in my pocket. Digging in my purse for a dime, I heard my name and turned around to see Jesus just standing there, waiting, and genuinely happy to see me. The clerk didn't car about our reunion and monitored for me to hand them the dime. I gave him the money and quickly stuffed the cigarettes in my purse.

Jesus walked to the counter and paid for his water. I waited for him to finish paying; I figured that was the least I could do. We walked out of the store and sat on a bench. He looked at me and asked how I've been and I looked at him and began crying.  I could't stop crying and saying sorry for leaving him and his party. I told him about how I would see him around the neighborhood. He asked why I never said 'hi' and I said, "because I was embarrassed."He looked away from me, opened his water and drank as he stared into the night.

Wiping my eyes, I looked at Jesus and asked him if he was mad. He sad he wasn't mad just kind of sad. Sad about what I asked. 'Sad' he responded, 'that when life got in the way that I didn't make you feel as if you could talk to me. I never wanted ti make you feel embarrassed. I always thought you knew that you could talk to me even if we didn't hang out in the same circle like we did before. I will always accept you because I WILL ALWAYS LOVE YOU.

I started crying; I went from crying in my hands to crying on Jesus' shoulder. He patted my head, told me to wipe my tears, and offered me some water. I drank some water, wiped my tears. and lifted my head from his shoulders, well I tried at least. My heart was still heavy from all that I've seen and all that I did in those past 5 years, that all my body wanted to do was rest on Jesus' shoulder.

We sat there for a while, in silence, looking at the empty street  enclosed by street lights. We drank some more water. Jesus then took a deep breath and put his hand on my head to lift me up. I set up and took a deep breathe.

"It's ok."

I looked at him and he looked at me and repeated,

"It's ok."

We stood up and hugged. Jesus told me that his father was having another house party on Sunday and that I should come. I told him I wasn't sure that would be a good idea. His response, "Just come as you are."

He walked away and headed down the street. Once he was gone, I headed back home in the opposite direction.

I went home and thought about Jesus until I fell asleep. When I awoke the next morning I felt refreshed; I felt like I could breathe again.

It was a Sunday afternoon. I knew Jesus father was having his house party. I took a shower, put on some clothes and headed out the door but not before writing a letter to the guy who texted me who was still asleep in the house.

The note said, "Sorry Life but we no longer work."
I walked out of the house and headed to the house party.

The truth is is that I never woke up the next morning after talking to Jesus. The guy that texted me those years ago, we ended up overdosing on meth and drowning in our bath that night. A sad ending to the tale I call my story but the good news is that even though I lost my body, I gained back my soul.

Our Tango

When he cries, I am only able to capture
his tears through a text.

Distance has always been our third lover.
And the more we learn about one another
the more distant we want distance to be.

Him holding me would be delightful
but me holding him would
feed my soul.

We haven't been able to meet each other
but I know when I see him
he will see me.

The arrival of that time
makes me smile.

So now our tango is with three and if we include
time, the number jumps to four.

We will be two  sooner rather than later.
But until then, time and distance
may we have this dance?