This was not meant to be a poem. I just thought to write down a few lines on the subject. What does “Special” mean to you. Share with us in the comments section.

Love. Zee


Special is good. Special is different.
Special is how it feels,
On an anniversary dinner night.

When your best friend says, “I love you.”
And when they don’t,
You believe, because, they are special too.

Your eyes betray your mutual truths.
The glassy transparency of it
Is clear for all to see.

Special is sad, sometimes, too.
Special is how you don’t want to feel,
Who you don’t want to be, when

Special means trouble. Crisis. Duty –
“Lord, let this cup pass, please”
“Yes, not Your will but mine.”

Special means rejection.
A walk in the dark.
Until you finally accept your truth.

Special is patient endurance,
A cycle of raised hopes
And dashed expectations.

Special is confusion. Desperation.
“Lord, please take him away.”
“Let him just die, please.”

Special is living a lie. Denial –
“This is not my portion, Lord,
You know I deserve better.”

Special means groping in the dark – a dead end.
The miracle might never come,
No matter how hard you pray.

Special is crying behind closed doors.
You seek to understand.
You seek to be understood.

Special is candor – you finally accept.
It’s a chance to teach –
To teach your  reality.

Special means loving,
Without expecting anything back.
No, not in the way you’d expect.

Special means ups and Down’s – a rollercoaster ride.
Sometimes you can fix it.
Sometimes you can heal.

Special is lonely. Special is fighting.
A cause not yours.
A cause all yours.

Special is a chance at learning.
New ways, new things.
You gamble too, take your chances.

With special, sight isn’t necessarily vision
And muteness might not translate
To being without voice.

Even the hard of hearing
Still keep their ears close to the ground.
It’s all in how you perceive your curve-ball.

Special breeds gratitude.
Not because they’re lesser humans but
Because you can be more humane.

Special is an open heart, pun intended or not.
Sometimes, they’re the most generous,
That you’ll ever find.

Special is where a small success
Is a big victory.
Not spectacular, true, but it’s all they live for.

Special sees not color. Special sees no status.
Special is all around you.
It’s what this is all about.


Birth Of The Dawn…..by Gift Dimgba Mamre

I’m pleased to share this next post with you, written by my dear friend Gift Dimgba Mamre. Gift is positive, with a vivaciousness that is very contagious. This piece highlights her personal struggles and an affirmation of her inmost desires. She speaks as if she has already received and that, my friend, is faith. Enjoy.

Birth Of The Dawn

In the birth of dawn,
With epitome of hope piled
I humbly sit and wait
My forthcoming child.

To this unborn one
From now and times to come
With happiness, and wisdom
I foresee a child with fun

To nourish his curious mind
And knowledge, help to find
I’ll always read with you,
Show you things I never knew

With you, I’ll never be sad
My moon-pie and precious lad
I have no fear, a mum to be,
My special kid, I can’t wait to see.

amanda 1 - karenard.com


You are my oasis from a day unmarked
Where I seep on some hot days
Times I fear the water may dry
You waiver also, when you look into my eyes
To stop your own fears

But when I hold your hands under the shade
Grateful for these moments
I try not to worry the water may dry
Like this world, waiver and fault
But it is fear, fear dries the eternal

A poem by Iheanyi C. Idimogu
Iheanyi is a Lawyer, based in Lagos, Nigeria
He loves to write.

Pretense Sleep


A little birdling’s cheep
Is oft the “nudge” I need
To wake me up at morn
And leave my bed forlorn

Beep goes my clock. Beep. Beep.
The snooze button I hit
For, yes, pretend I must
In  deep, long sleep to be

I tiptoe to the door
A peep at you to steal
I see you gulp your coffee
Watch you head out the door

My own relief I hear
A sigh escapes my mouth
You always want to say your piece
Than nurture us some peace

A nagging wife, who can find?
Her trouble’s far from rubies
Her husband’s heart at her doth flinch
He’ll have no lack of pain.



Image: wikihow.com

Away with love
And away with its lies
A way it is
Of feeding me the highs

Away with hate
I’ll forgive one more time
There ne’er was time to die
Than the moment of truth

Away with cheer
This fairy make-up tale
The ruse contrived
To keep me in limbo

Away with sorrow
Else, away with life
Of what use is the life
That ne’er was lived at all

One Night And What You Wish – 2

Please click here, if you missed part 1.



Toun Salami hissed, as she paced around the room in anger. The young man who handed her the tape and who she had earlier employed to bug the house, was trying in vain to calm her down.

“Take it easy, madam. Things like this happen. You just have to take it easy, okay?”

“Mtscheww! How could he? How could they?”

She hadn’t bargained for this at all. The other day when she had invited the technician to come bug the house, after everyone had gone out, her sole purpose was to spy on Idara and hopefully chance on her conversations with whoever was responsible for her pregnancy, seeing that she had refused to open up on his identity. But nothing prepared her for this betrayal.

For the first time in her life, she felt alone, lost and completely clueless about her life – her husband, who had stooped so low to tow the line of adultery, their only son, who had sunk so deep into crass brazenness, even blackmailing his father at the expense of his mother; and the housemaid she had literally picked up from the gutters, who thought of no other way to return the goodness than to magnanimously click the ‘share’ button of her lustful tendencies on her own husband’s wall!. Whatever happened to family? Whatever happened to love, devotion, gratitude and one good turn deserving another? She fell on her knees and broke down in tears.

“Haba Madam, take it easy now, ehn. You have to approach this matter with a calm mind. Here, take a sit.” The technician pulled a chair close for her and helped her up. She gratefully accepted his gesture. Just then, the doorbell rang. It was Idara, just coming back from the errand that had been concocted to keep her out of the house long enough to attend to this necessary business.

“I think I’ll take my leave now, madam.”

“Okay. Thank you for the job done. I’ll let you know if I need you again.”

“Yes madam. And don’t worry, I’ll help myself out.”

“Yes, thank you,” Toun accepted graciously, for she was sure that if she went to get the door herself, nothing would keep her from strangling Idara. “And please let the maid in,” she added.

When she left the study a few minutes later, she was  resolute. She would play this game the way they all wanted it. She would take it all with a smile, continue to be the good wife, the doting mother and benevolent lady of the house. The game had only just begun. “Let’s see for how long the bunch of you idiots can hold out,” she muttered.