Life in Pieces 2

PLEASE DRAW MY ARMS

There is a little girl that was

A pretty little girl

All that she did was pretty

The little girl she was

The little girl did love to draw

Seated on her pretty table, she drew

One day, she drew a pretty picture

The drawing was of me

The drawing made a pretty picture

The prettiest picture that could be!

Eyes that shone, skin that glowed

The picture looked so real

The little girl, she gave me life

Her pretty wand a pencil

With her magic I could jump,

Skipping through the fields, I made a pretty sight

One day while I skipped, I tripped and then I fell

I tried to get up I tried but failed

I called to my maker “Pretty girl where are you?”

The pretty girl was gone

It was while I struggled, I realised I had no arms

I was of paper not meant to last

I searched for the pretty girl

I willed her to come. I

My voice made a pretty sound, a pretty useless sound

The weather turned, the clouds swelled, soon the rain began

Heavy splashes charged at me

Each droplet tearing my world apart

Once more, I tried calling. My voice, now a whisper

Pretty girl, little girl, pretty little girl

Please hear my voice and come to me for alone I cannot stand

In your haste to create a masterpiece, you forgot to draw my arms

                                                                                                                        - July 2003

THESE ARE THE DAYS

These are the days of the prophets

Our counted days on earth

From every corner hear their call

Come and buy my wares

Wealth, redemption or deliverance sold to the high roller!

 Still, these are the days of our prophets

After burning the enemies and their generations unborn

We fail to ease the hurts of the homeless waif

On the streets, children hawk themselves

Sidewalks a fort for ‘used’ women

Yet, these are the days of the prophets

From January to December, we watch and we wait

Humbly we pray eagerly we hope

Salvation lies ahead, forgiveness from the divine

Last night my brother was shot to death

His crime? He dared to stand still

Yes! These are the days of the prophets

A many churches and prayer houses we build

As many slums, batchers, and alleys we fail to destroy

In the morning, we are promised a better tomorrow

In the evening, we sleep with one eye open

Of course, these are the days of the prophets

- March 2009

Culled from Sketches Energy (Unpublished)

A collection of Poems by

Oseyi Okoh

Life in Pieces 1

Lauren: (Loses her husband John on Christmas Eve writes a poem in his honour, post the poem as well as a picture of him on social media.)

 

Ex Colleague: Wow Lauren beautiful poem, I feel your pain. So you too were dating John? Unna plenty oh. My cousin broke up with him last month after finding out he had a wife and 3 kids. Poor woman.

Lauren: John is my husband.

John’s Sister: Wicked woman! You are not grateful you got his last name. Instead of you to be busy mourning my brother, you are here spoiling his name. You are such a pretender. I wish my brother never married you. You are so silly, I can’t imagine what he saw in you.

John’s Friend: Lauren please be strong for your children. Your husband loved you very much. He was driven to work so hard because he wanted the best for you four. You have to accept all Nigerian men cheat, hold on to the happy memories you shared and move on. Don’t let all this put you off a future relationship. You are a good woman, I am certain you will find love again.

Puppy

You made an impression on all the lives you touched. 
With love for you in common, we've tried to  pull together to mourn your loss  believing it would ease the pain. 
It is not working anymore. 

To them you were a son, brother and kin but I knew you as a man. 
To love, trust and cherish 
The father of our kids and most of all my lover. 

When I've managed to mechanically pass through  the day and hope to sleep at night, I lay awake. 

My body misses its home. 

The taste of your lips, the feel of your hands, the smell of your sweat. 
Sensations lost forever. 

To link our fingers even for a little while and kiss you one more time? 
I'm afraid for what I am willing to trade. 

Dear L,

Babes, guess what?

This year, I decided I was going to be a wicked minx and make you sh*t your pants. 
Since it is now obvious you have become an expert at sitting by the clock till twelve midnight  - competing with Boobo to be the first to call, watching out for blog posts, supporting the airtime giveaways and being the thief that you are; soliciting for your cut even when you supplied the codes.
The plan was to hand your son over to you in some grand gesture then be like "all I want for my birthday this year is Zoey's album". Seeing how it has taken you almost three years to get it from the elusive photographer, I was certain you'd make it work this time.

Rather than dwell on things I cannot have, I've been asked to make a list; of positive things that either made me happy or I am grateful for. 
I guess I'd give it a shot.

1. Two amazing children that are healthy and cute

2. All the days I was a happily married woman

3.

Started writing the list yesterday and haven't still been able to move past number 3.
A lot of hurt could have been avoided if you stayed a while longer.
I guess it will be continued someday but for now, one and two will do.

Wish you were here

- Sketch