Whatever - Duet by Ezeala Chukwuka Christian & Stefn Sylvester Anyatonwu

WHATEVER

Love isn't just a word for two

rolling and moaning to a coital tune.

Lust isn't a word evil

because it defined Adam's want for Eve.

So whenever

she ever

looks me in the eye

and ASK

'Do you really love me?'

I'll reply 'Whatever'

Heart for heart, love

The body only lusts.

Whatever,

It was,

I chased it for too long.

Was it love, feeling or lust,

I romance with it.

Blissful it was,

And with every chase,

I long for it like morning.

Patience isn't just a word

It's a sick man in time's ward

enduring pain from soul deep sores

receiving pain from healing words

So whenever the world looks me in the eye

and say;

'do you have all it takes?

is it worth the wait?'

I'll say

Whatever, slowly I'll make haste.

Whatever,

It was,

I waited for it.

And heaven knows I could have waited,

all my life,

As Eden waited for Eve.

As flowers waits for the morning dew.

Now talk of stars and dark spots

Talk of arrows and inverted bows

Talk of beauty and hurting words

Talk of hell and feeble gods

Who cares who crosses the finish line?

We all one day shall cross same line

So whatever

That's all that matters

Whatever,

it was,

I'd cross the Sahara for it.

Shoot down seven stars,

And walk though hell for it.

It was beautiful,

That was all that matter.

Comments

Fiction | The Tripod Effect

THE TRIPOD EFFECT The Smiths were unable to conceive children and decided to use a surrogate father to start their family. On the day the surrogate father was to arrive, Mr. Smith kissed his wife and said, "I'm off. The man should be here soon" Half an hour later, just by chance a door- to-door baby photographer rang the doorbell, hoping to make a sale. "Good morning, madam. I've come to...." "Oh, no need to explain. I've been expecting you," Mrs. Smith cut in. "Really?" the photographer asked. "Well, good. I've made a speciality of babies" "That's what my husband and I had hoped. Please come in and have a seat" After a moment, she asked, blushing, "Well, where do we start?" "Leave everything to me. I usually try two in the bathtub, one on the couch and perhaps a couple on the bed. Sometimes the living room floor is fun too; you can really spread out!" "Bathtub, living room floo...

The Curve And Colors Of Hate | Uwen Precious Ogban

The Curve And Colors Of Hate When the evening news had broken Father spoke with a tone of pain and anger “Nigeria is a whore,” And my mother agreed Painting sensual scenes giving you pleasure of what looks like a garden that hides a landmine. And how trying to walk through it becomes slippery A journey asking for crimson libations, full of fractures and ‘Had I knowns’ while you looked over the fence for greener pastures Her sighs spoke of a menu full of thrills but you are served double horrors She, Nigeria, abhors you later on when it relinquishes you of value, Truly, she is an old ‘Whore’ My Father picked it from there, “Nigeria gets hard as rock” Wants of men despised Sullen moods recorded in poems, speeches, and events, snubbed For as long as it makes sultry suplex’s on a comfortable ring – Nigeria is satisfied “Son, Nigeria is you, your mum and I” Guilty to a fault Pained by happenings that come with fire and brimstone Let loose from bellies that should hold patriotis...

Featured Poem: Slavery In Africa - by Uwen Precious Ogban

SLAVERY IN AFRICA We believe they rowed their boats of tumults into our region; carrying with them bags of conundrums, while we drummed our drums and jollied to their, intonation. The way they dressed, the way they addressed us Made us mime to the harmony and yearns in their speeches of a dawn to civility and hale: that was a start of the course of slavery in Africa. We still thought they were our brothers, because our chiefs rolled floridly with their proposals While we were mockingly disposed of In the field, or given to bespoken tailors as apprehends; as helps; in servitude; ‘posed to carry out orders as the come in flicks. We became babies in our own motherland we became cartage of their foreign plans. We cleared our huts so that they could find comfy and build on our strengths draining our tears as they wryly whipped us on our backs. Their wisdom their prowess They used to molest And we gazed in cluelessness Cause we still didn’t see it as slavery then – but as pain, so enjoyable....

Jaachi Writes

Search This Blog