Essy The Poet

I married him, a broke bloke.     We worked so hard, it hurt, just to reach high. Then the sweat trickled, solidifying into coins. The wish list got ticked, inch by inch, meted. The dared dreams, met by money, implemented. There were new shoes, new clothes, new recipes. Then the new mansions, new cars, new projects.   We crossed the bridge, quite unceremoniously. The dinners, the politics, the vloggers came venomously. The road trips graduated into flights, so vigorously. We schooled the kids too, in places quite scholarly. Then the guests flocked in, testing my hospitality. The nephews, the aunties, the uncles, quite ridiculously, Hailing and praising their rich uncle, loved suddenly.   Then the centre hit, he told me, so much courage. He lost interest in all things marriage. Vanishing for weeks while I chased his mirage. He wanted time alone, to reclaim and disparage I fought to accept and his ego massage. Little did I know, ‘the me time’ as

He told me once, A man had a voyage that his life depended on, He also had a wife, newly bought, cattle a tone. Who she had to leave behind, for a duration he knew not. A sad farce, leaving a maiden lonely, felt a tight knot. Ragging his head, he thought up a solution…. bingo! He swiftly purchased a chastity belt, to secure his winkies… lingo! ‘None must tamper with my wife’s ding-dong while I am away.’ Under lock and key, his goodies were secured, he felt gay. ‘But what if harm befalls me on my voyage, shall my wife die childless?’ Ragging his head once again, he thought up a solution… genius! On the hill yonder is a man older, a chaste aced pastor, very ingenious! ‘I will leave him the key, in case I die, the man yonder can sire her an heir.’ Obstacles removed, free as a barnacle, he headed to the port, free of ire. ‘One more look at my home land,’ he thought, dreadful of the unknown Then he heard a loud yell, ‘Kino!’ he looked back, Bowne. The man yon

Dear Bestie, As I write this, my palms are moist with shock. You remember the day when Jay was born? How you held him gently, kissed him warmly, read his soul. Calling him your little heartbreaker. You remember?   Dear Bestie, As I write, my heart throbs with thunderbolt. You remember his first little steps, lovely and wobbly? You remember us buying him blue outfits that flew? Wanting him to be a pilot? Remember?   Dear Bestie As I write, there is a tempest within me. You remember his first day in school, sharp as a tack. You remember him asking about his Daddy? Wanting to be like other kids? Remember?   Dear Bestie, As I write, there is a chill running down my spine. You remember when we prayed and fasted to get him a visa? You remember the good luck bouquet you gave him? Wanting him to read law in Cambridge? Remember?   Dear Bestie, As I write, pangs of regret won’t give me a minute of peace. He returned just yesternight, with

Dear Bestie,                                                                                                                                                       I have come to realize, A woman at fifty is a being, awful. She looks like she is manning up for something dreadful. Her voice solidifies into a thick hollow, ever mournful. Her chin doubles up into a choking curve, mouthful. Her nose flares in disgust over her past memories, regretful. Her moustache gradually forms, beckoning a long daring beard resentful,   Her eyes fall into a chasm so that they float feebly in disapproval, hurtful. Her forehead dissects a line of worry, a grey shred of hair receding, frightful. Her backside insists on a rebellious uneven overflowing contemptuous pile, tactful. Her feet are sprout up roots, green and bulging, decrying tight shoes she’s fond of, painful.   Bestie, This is the woman we don’t want to be. This is the woman you don’t want to have for your boss. A

Dear bestie Two decades are gone since we went into this teaching-ache. I don’t know about you but, I have seen it all, my head aches. I have watched them gain and lose, their height, weight, teeth. I have seen them fall in and out of love, such doves getting hit. I have amusedly watched the shock on their faces when hit by changes. These changes are cruelly fast, some are painfully slow, tight hinges… These I have witnessed, laughed and cried, worried and tired. Not all wonderful though, the girls without Fathers…. They search for what they know not, all unfettered sisters, They chase the sky, if just for a sigh, a man might be tender. They read books and trust the scheme, the novelty to be slender. They hope and dream and watch the movies, Hollywood trash! They believe in magic, something mustn’t be so harsh, so hush! The girls without Fathers, have denied and embraced ghosts. They have made men out of women, and women out of men. I can almost tell from

Dear Bestie, My memory belches unpleasant evocations strenuously entered into its reserves. I recall for instance, the snake bite of my aunt, how frightful it must have been for her. I recall my mother’s painful strokes, an astute testifier of using canes on kids, aha! I recall my athletic cousin who duped us into emptying our pockets, only to vanish in the prodigal son’s manner. I recall my step mother, locking up the corn stores so that we starved in my Dad’s absence. I recall my aunt’s disappearance after facing the sharp knife that would end her education. I recall the violence that erupted after one election period scattering us like frightened chicken. I recall these things;  I recall them with a remote lingering haziness that would rather be left alone. I recall these and more, I recall the decisions that emanated from these moments. These experiences were bearable, these memories, melancholic as they sound, are bearable.  But Bestie, let me tell you: Thi

  I hate snails. I hate their fearlessness, their daring attitude I hate their creepy tactics, the appearing clammy act. I hate their magical subtlety, showing up in the least likely of places I hate their affinity for wetness and their ingenious ability to nauseate. I hate their audacity, their daring to ask to be stepped on, as if they have nothing to lose I hate their swift slowness, their curious horns, their melancholic fright, their desperate rush. I hate their ability to disgust, their ability to invade, their ability to leave trails of mucus, days later. I hate their incredible patience, their ability to wait for months for the rains, to survive on moistures. Wait, what if there was a snail in each one of us? Snoozing off the alarms for a little more sleep. What if there was a snail, in each one of us? Living poor only to drown in plenty? What if there was a snail in each one of us? Daring the odds of the day? What if there was a snail in each one of u

Remember my birth, when your face fell As you told them, it’s a girl, oh hell! I heard you, you know, and I cried hard. I wasn’t welcome after all, I knew and it hurt. Still, I cry, they say, # fear women.   They call me Babygal, kamami, tortoise, They call me names and games, so much noise. Groomed into skin- deep admiration, all physical, A colony of sorts, a girl, even her sexuality they must mutilate Still, I cry, they say, # fear women.     So I run helter skelter, to boost our buts, like robots. I lighten the skin and enlarge my lips, or they will oppose I maim my back, to stand tall with six inch heals And fry up my hair to keep up with western ills   Still I cry, they say # fear women.   Why would you fear a life giver, soft paws A tidier person, an orderly being, a future queen, no flaws? Stop the cowardice, that speaks inferiority Where would you be, in a bearded city? Still, I cry, they say, # fear women,   Devoid of models, we

Photo taken from google There is a new colonization, just wait let me tell you, enthusiasts.     Chills and spasms and sometimes, open curious chasms I fret at times at the looming impotence, Alas! When the inventor is held ransom by the inventee , gasp! I worry, shall the creature colonize the creator?   My lover- soldier, dreadful of the front at war, Lost to the infallible robot, devoid of a heart. In the guise of shame praised the bot, suppressing a curse. And now with no wages, he engages in livid living. I worry, shall the creature colonize the creator?   Did I tell you of my pal, Crazy Tracy? Let me tell you… She walked in on his man, satisfying his carnal impulses, With the apathetic ruse, Sophia; how the unruly muse broke her heart She could just kill her yet; she was semi- dead, quasi- human. I worry, shall the creature colonize the creator? A clerical duty, been holding couple of years, Came to a halt recently, when the ogress of a boss, cit