MANY VOICES by Oma

Does my father know the chair he sits on belongs to god.

My mother was a king

I have said this before

She married my father

I have not said this before

I should have married my mother

I have also said this before

Every morning father would sit

In his balcony and read a whole newspaper

Mother would let us know

How much she wanted to be loved

Father would say hello

To every stranger who walked past our gate

Mother would go to church

Sometimes i would go to her

At home people who came to visit would call my father king.

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HINTS - through the lens of an Ogbanje

What is manipulation to human

is just a way of being to an Ogbanje

a means to existing.

An ogbanje wants what it wants

human says by any means necessary

ogbanje sees any necessary means to exist.

A mother grief,

collateral damage.

A death occurred,

a mission accomplished.

A lovers aching heart,

a side project.

A feeling experienced,

a sensation fulfilled. 

Not selfish

just focused on an assignment

a journey

where emotions reside in a chosen life lived.

One can learn from the Ogbanje

seeing what is considered mundane

as maybe it's only reason for choosing to live.

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My First Plant

She came to me

as an unexpected gift

i name her

to acknowledge her as mine

a reflection of me

an image of mother

and so far friend

i have learned from her

that new leaves must fall

all death is not an end

this transition is a process

to bear wider and greener leaves

and most important of all

that plants speak too

to those who can listen.

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10 Years From Now

I have lived a full life

Regained so much family

Fallen in love with friends

Claimed my children

Engaged my wife

Written and shared

Enough stories to last a lifetime

Built up and burned down numerous things with kin spirit

Liberated so many and as a result liberated myself.

What a great great

Spirit they are!

The people shall say

What a great spirit you are!

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PINCH & BLOW

inspired by Maya Angelou

The market women did it

so it belonged to them.

Our african mothers did it 

so it belonged to them.

The market women

were our mothers

and our mothers

were the market women

together, they would pinch and blow

the misbehaving children;

pinch them quick then blow

mouth wind on the sting as quick

to make them forget but remember how to behave.

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I LOST IT

It all begins with an idea.

I lost my desire

for travel 

to make new friends

of being understood

So every other year

i ask my mother

though she is no longer here

why i have to close my legs while sitting

listen to elders who speak nonsense

relearn all the languages i forgot

Why i have to be christian

or muslim

or dead first

to be able to dream of heaven after my death

when i have already experienced several heavens

even before my birth.

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