These tears will fall for you no more

This voice will scream out your name no more

This mind will think of you no more

This heart will long for  you no more

These hands will feel for you no more

the lovepoet

 

"my heart lies deep in the ocean that is neither cold nor hot, but longs for warmth. it swims left right and center lost in confusion . it floats steadily as if it were dead, dead from the dryness of your love that made it beat" - the lovepoet

FARABALE

“Farabale”

“Farabale and touch my body,” she said to him. “I will treat you right; just take your time,” as he tore the clothes off her body. “Farabale,” she kept saying as tears rolled down her eyes. He threw her on the bed, forced her hands down, and slowly entered her. She tried to hold in the screams by biting her lips so hard it started bleeding. “Farabale,” she kept saying as her voice faded under his moans and groans. The pleasure she once felt with this man became unbearable pain, but she had no choice but to bare it. “that’s what you get for loving a drunk,” the voice in her head repeatedly said; that’s the price you get for loving a drunk. She wished death could come and eat her up at that moment. She felt so dirty with herself; it reminded her of her stepfather and the gifts he gave her every Friday night when her mother worked the night shifts. What did she know about love? There was no one to teach, show, and, worst of all, no one to love her.

                                              As he rolled off her, he went into a deep sleep. She could not think straight; all she wanted to do was to run away, far, far away from him, but where was she to go to? Who could she talk to and tell of her pain? As she got up to wash, blood dripped down from her, pain, another once lost. This life had paid her no respect and showed her no love right there, and then, she decided to walk straight into death if it failed to take her out of this misery that she called life.

                                                  She whispered into his ear one last look at him and one last tear for him, “I love you,” and walked out, leaving the door open. She got on the night bus going nowhere. She couldn’t help herself but cry. “Oga, where is the last stop,” she asked the conductor because she had boarded the bus from Lagos mainland, “to lekki Ajah aunty.” Ajah, who do I know there? Where will I go? She thought that maybe going back wouldn’t be so bad, but she had held too much pain in her heart to imagine what it would be like. What would lead a woman to go back to an abusive husband? Her mind drifted to when she first met Teni as a jambite at the University of Lagos through an old primary school. Teni was an Art major hoping to be a famous painter like many before him, hoping to reach the heights many Nigerians had not achieved. In 1989, four years after graduating from University and after six years of dating, they married happily. Their love was like one never seen, clinging to each other as if it was their last time on the face of the earth.

                                                             Unfortunately, Teni never made it as a famous artist, as critics understated his painting, saying it lacked true African inspiration and to European for a well-rounded African community. That’s when it all came crashing down; this drove him into the infamous Fela shrine, where he drank till his sorrows brought him joy. He would go home and make her a canvas of different strokes and colors. She loved him still like the first time they had laid eyes on each other, so she stayed after he beat her into three miscarriages and lost her friends and family. She stayed even after he made her watch him have sex with another woman in their home.

                             The sound of a baby crying brought her back to reality; she took a pen and paper and started to write the last words she would ever have to say to him.

Teni,

 Slow love songs playing, the dark room lit with scented candles, a lovely dinner in the middle of the room filled with strawberries and cream. We danced all night, telling each other about our great love. In my beautiful pink dress and you in your Hugo boss suit. Could this night get any better? I asked myself; then you took my hand and led me to the porch to show me the beautiful stars, and the next thing I see is a big sign in the sky saying will you marry me? When I turned around, you were on your knees with a diamond ring. Tears rolled down my eyes, tears of joy. I couldn’t believe this was happening to me. I said yes, and that was the beginning of it all. The best night of my life. So we got married and started living happily, or so we thought. Every day I wish for us to have such nights. Then you started coming home late, sweet-scented perfumes on your body, drunk. I knew we were heading straight for misery. After everything you put me through, I didn’t think you would take it this far to have a baby with another woman. My love for you was like a flowing river; yours was like a broken bucket ever leaking. Now it’s time for me to go to a place where I can feel no pain, no harm, no emotions at all, but know even in death, my love for you will be forever like the sun.

From your first and last

Your everlasting love.


the lovepoet
p.s “farable” is a Yoruba term meaning “relax” or “slow down.” This story's first part was written in the fall of 2011, and the latter was written in 2008. I combined both stories for my fiction writing class. 

QOUTE

Every man,guy, boy  is a story, a poem, a written piece of work

                                                                                   Wuraola Damilola

Untitled

Tears fall down as I look back and watch my life crumble before me
Like a glass thrown to the ground, shattered and scattered all around
Pieces unseen and blood drips from my feet
As I walk over the broken glass that is my life

Pain, hurt, strained, thorn, sliced open

Lay me down on a bed of roses
let its thorns pierce me deep
till death picks me up 
blood trickling down
to the root of the flower
stains the ground and
leave it as a sign 
that life was taken
At its will.


The lovepoet.

Death of A Poet

On that very day, I died

Laying on the bed, him on top of me I died

I died a slow and painful death

Death of the body soul and spirit

Death of innocence

Death of the mind

Death of my glory, radiance

Death of my beauty, brilliance

I died the death of my shining light

Death of my goals dreams and aspiration

Death of  my words

Death of knowledge and wisdom

I am nothing but a living corpse

I see darkness, void, and thorns

My soul cries out for help

Buried deep in the earth

My body lifeless

My spirit lost

I died inside of me

The  words that I once spoke

With life lay dead  on the ground

The words that once brought joy

Exhumes sorrow and sadness.

Slowly, my thoughts leave me empty

Death consumes my everything

My actions no longer have meaning

I am within spirits and the supernatural

I died a slow and painful death.

p.s     you can listen to Lana Del Ray's  "Young and Beautiful" as you read.

MY PEOPLE CRY

THE CRY

My people cry

they cry because they do not know who they are

they cry because ignorance has become their excuse. 

My people cry because they hide from the truth

they cry because they do not want to be themselves 

they cry because they refuse their heritage and language.

My people cry because they have been in bondage for my years

they cry over the shackles they wore for many years. 

they cry over mental slavery.

My people cry over the dead, then and now

they cry over the children they lost to the new world.

They cry  because they have been forgotten  as they forget their roots

my people cry over behaviours that show no respect, sympathy or love.

They cry over death that comes knocking every now and then 

my people cry because of animosity and destruction.

They cry for the lack of love between themselves

O my people cry!

They cy cause their women absence the African pride

my people cry over the past, for the present, and abut the future.

I CRY WITH MY PEOPLE

 

WEED

WEED/S.K./CANDY/KUSH/SKUNK
Sniff
Inhale, exhale, puff
This shit, this shit right here
Inhale, exhale, puff

This shit right here
This shit right here will
Takes you places
Puff, puff, pass
Burna’s Indian thing playing
In the background, yeah
I’m a Christian, not a Buddhist
When I inhale that grass
As the smoke travels down
My throat into my lungs
Inhale exhale puff
Fela’s image runs
Through my mind
Back and forth
Inhale exhale puff
This shit right here
This shit right here
Make me happy
Inhale exhale puff
This shit right here
Opens up my mind
I see dead people
Inhale, exhale, puff
Puff, puff, pass
Fela said so
I passed, passed
The fuck out.

the lovepoet 

Woman Of The Island

WOMAN OF THE ISLAND

skin as dark as cocoa

smooth as silk

the sweet plum lips that 

spoke the language of our forefathers

the way she moved her hips 

to the rhythm of the island

They way the grass skirt 

moved side to side

and the coconut cups

on her succulent breast

bounced back and forth

they way she stared at me 

her brown eyes piercing into

my heart, spirit, soul, and body

her movement mesmerized me

as she moved I followed

away from the crowd and

into the shadowy forest

the music began to fade 

now it was just me and her

right there and then 

she took me out of 

this world and straight

into heaven 

woman of the island

BIRTHDAY

                                               HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO ME                                            
                                                 I'm finally 21   YAY ME!!!!!
                                          

James Blake 'Retrograde'

This song just takes me out of this world and into another realm.

listen and enjoy