Are real and uncertain
Lives start and end here
Are real and uncertain
Lives start and end here
Snow isn’t always white
The tellers of Snow White lied
A blower comes to do its job
The sidewalk’s never fair
Black is never vile
It’s how the earth began
Whether this be your creed or not
It came from up above
Dark isn’t always evil
Deeds beneath its cover, perhaps
Your heart that’s dark just might be
The sign your pain won’t wane
Blood isn’t always red
The nobles will have us know
Nor does having it make you human
The ruthless show no shame
Snow isn’t always white
If the seven dwarfs but knew
Innocence is neither eternal
Nor happiness the end
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.
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.
A rmed with nothing but love in their hearts
M en of little reckon dare us to conquer our hate and prejudice
I lls that threaten to mar us to extinction
T hese malignancies must like a gangrene be severed, or
Y ank us off life, they will.
He is the worst one
The enemy from within
That hones his evil craft
Under our very noses
He’s of the worst kind
Our friendly foe
Who steals off our innocence
Under cover of night
Our trusting kin
Slumber and smile
While you scar our bodies
Our minds too
Rendering us numb
How can we forget?
You are the one
That you pretend
To shield us from –
You taught us that
The world was evil
Who could have known
The world was you!
PS: I’ve heard some terrible stories in recent times that I cannot even retell on this page. There’s a lot going on now, when it comes to child sexual abuse. What we hear sometimes. …. is really scary. Why, even parents! Our children can’t run out of this world now, can they?👫
My guest for today is Sandra Oyeku. Sandra resides in Australia, where she is a teacher. She is highly skilled in working with children, something she has been doing for almost a decade.
Sandra is fascinated by the saintliness of a child’s mind yet acknowledges that this innocence doesn’t remain for long, as life quickly starts to teach, to write….and the reality is very different.
I find this piece to be a mixture of the child’s fantasies and the rude reality, which many of us can identify with.
The Outsider Inside
Many would utter
At birth – the way the mind is –
A clean slate with no shades
But these blue skies with no greys
Looking down on pastures –
Dying wilting pastures
Ration what I have to feed on
They gently sap the life in me
Because I – I am right in their midst.
I’m no coward, yet I cower
How long will this servitude be?
Still, I, full of the sun, give smiles
Bountiful, blessed and bright
Need to keep shining my light
That is my demeanour, banner and pledge
So whatever is, whatever comes
I remain grateful
For my purpose I’ll still be thankful
Until all will be again evergreen
As much as hope shall within me glean
I look outside of me
To find me everywhere
And yet still here
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.
A hill is a hill
Because the valley exists
But for low plains
The highlands would deny their name
I am tall
For the reason that you are short
The blackness of me indistinct
If you weren’t so white
We must coexist
Else be nonexistent
True identities fade
Where interdependence is ignored
You are my yardstick
Much as I must be the measure
The meter by which you must shine
That shine that’s so divine
The things I fear
More than death:
In the end,
Not to have lived at all
For my young ‘uns
That they be not robbed of innocence
Ere they grasp
The ‘What,’ ‘When,’ Why’ and ‘How’
Of my Maker
That my name be found not
In His Book of Life
Oh, these things, I fear
Much more than life itself
Or even the absence of it
Today is one of those rare days when I remember that poems were not the only thing I set out to publish, at the time I started my blog. It was actually my intent to write about anything that tickled my fancy, anything I considered worth musing about.
So, here’s me coming around, if indeed there’s to be a coming around – I’m incurably in love with poetry and no apologies, there happens to be nothing I can do about it.☺
Now, is it just me or has anyone ever noticed that the very place where we visit, in search of a cure to our maladies, can end up being the same place where we pick up new ones? So that you don’t wonder what I’m driving at, let me quickly be clear, that I’m talking about hospitals. Yes, hospitals and no, I’m not talking about airborne diseases or anything like the Ebola virus disease (thank God my native Nigeria is rid of it), though these are not ruled out. I’m referring to malaria.
A few times, I have been confronted with a situation where I needed to take my children to the hospital “now now”, or else …..
On such occasions, I’ve been surprised or rather alarmed, to realise, that the interior and exterior of these ‘havens’ are usually a den of mosquitoes.
If you are “fortunate” to be visiting at night, any exposed part of your body is subject to assault from these tiny predators while you wait your turn at the reception. And heaven help you (not) if the doctor decides to keep you in for observation. It means you will be given a bed – the very altar on which you will be sacrificed to those little devilish opportunists that are mosquitoes.
My family has gotten so wise as to include a mosquito net as part of our hospital go-bag, just in case… and don’t you even make mention of mosquito -repellent gels and liquids. The mosquitoes in my region are mean villains, they come at you with the determination of a mercenary. Invincible almost. So we manage with an insecticide-treated mosquito net, although we’d prefer to do without the insecticide and related toxicity but hey, you choose the lesser of two evils!
Now I’m not saying that our hospitals are not making effort but I think more can be done. In addition to fixing mosquito nets on the windows and doors of their facilities – by the way, these windows and doors inevitably have to be opened to let in either air or visitors (mosquitoes included) 😊 – hospitals’ management should consider installing mosquito nets for each bed.
I would have proposed regular fumigation, in addition but I’m not a fan of chemicals. Surrounding vegetation has to be cleared. The drainage system has to be properly done. Whichever measures they take, they owe it to us to protect us. Or how do you explain my going to hospital to get my malaria treated, only to end up being bitten by more mosquitoes! Let’s face it. Something extra has to be done. Unless the hospitals are only paying lip service to malaria prevention.
In which case, it would be safe to refer to them as “mosquitals” and the little pests they harbour as “hospitoes.”
Now tell me, what is it like in your country? Are hospitals doing what they should to protect you in that regard? I’d love to know.