For Leah Shabiru - Stefn Sylvester Anyatonwu

POEM 136: FOR LEAH SHABIRU

I can't find the words right

To describe Leah's plight.

I hope this little piece of mine

Awakens our voiceless unconcern.

Does she feel giddy?

Does she still cry?

Does she look out the window and heave a sigh?

How long shall this gravity

Hold her down to these rascals?

I know she kicks but in vain

I know she whispers prayers to her God

Or maybe she now doubts his existence.

Does she wish her breathe be gone?

But she's just a teenager

Who dreamt of leaving her deadbeat town

One day she went to chase dreams

The next she was never found

Sunrise and sunset have come and gone

and Leah is still in the devil's lair.

You and I, we eat, we sleep

She's not our own, we care not a bit

Until same fate cross our path

Trample our wives

And rip our hearts

Only then shall we realize in Leah

died our very soul.

- Stefn Sylvester Anyatonwu

#365DaysOfPoetry

#Pengician

#SSA

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shy, a poem

bashful, timid, quiet. shy If anyone you know has used these terms to describe you, you're probably a bit shy. Everyone feels that way once in a while. Shyness and social anxiety are common, no matter how old you are. There is one myth about social anxiety and social anxiety disorder that I would like to dispel. The myth says that social anxiety is just exaggerated shyness. This myth encourages the idea that anxious people are merely weak-willed pushovers. It is partially because of this myth, I think, that well-intentioned people offer the relevant but insensitive and patronizing advice like, “Don’t worry about it!” , “Just do it” and “Face your fears.” Thinking on all these, I wrote this poem: shy when a shy person speaks, it's like music from guitar strings. when a shy person smiles, it’s like the sun coming out when a shy person steps out it's like the uncommon visit of gods when a shy person reclines it feels like moon eloped from night when a shy person is 'i

Dustbin And Drafts - Stefn Sylvester Anyatonwu

POEM 142: DUSTBIN AND DRAFTS He was the night sky, She was a star, Always together, Never one. He wrote what he felt for her of how her twinkles light up his dark. But they never get to her. One more note was added in his drafts. Fragrant pens and beautiful poems Pink papers and artistic handwriting. She wrote about the beauty in his black of how they make her twinkles shine. but they never got to him. Only the dustbin knows how much she loves him - Stefn Sylvester Anyatonwu #365DaysOfPoetry #Pengician #SSA Enjoyed reading? Please help my blog grow by leaving a comment and sharing with friends. Thank you!

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