Category: Uncategorized

March 5th

How do you want to be loved? he asked
 
The type of love I yearn for,
is one that has weathered 52 years. 
As she watches the man she spent half a century with 
Lie in a hospital , she feeds  him with anticipation 
That he will reciprocate the love in her eyes 
 
How do you want to be loved? 
 
The same way in which 
The frail elderly man was willing 
To disregard his own safety 
To return her to their home 
 
To take care of her,
in their final days. 
To live under one roof,
as they had done so,
for the past 60 years. 
 
Overruled by doctors 
who saw the decision 
as that of one losing his sense 
 
But love cannot be , and is never rational 
And even those with sense
Will make foolish choices 
 
How do you want to be loved? 
 
I would destroy myself
Just to hold onto you
 
But as you repeatedly
throw that love into the flames,
Of my burning heart
All the while asking;
How do you want to be loved?
 
Darling, if you must ask, 
you have already lost  
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Simple Love

I have learned to fall in love so easily
I have always secretly thought it is a trait of my people
A message passed on down from our grandmothers

 

A generosity and senses of openness
you cannot  but help
call people home

 

I love the blueness of the Nile,
The memories of spending new years at the banks
Yearly flood into my mind  at the strike of midnight

 

So I return every year
To fill my heart with sun and love
In the hopes it is enough
1

Old Friends-New Beginnings

The awkwardness of fumbling and stumbling

over the truthfulness of our words,

choking over words that have been buried

under flaring blazing red hot tempers,

like teenagers we tentatively ask the simple questions

of our hopes dreams and aspirations

 

Getting to know each other once again from a different view,

A game of tug a war, I give you the strength

and let you pull me into your world

until I feel myself spiralling

so(with my own strength) I push,

and find you encircling mine.

 

Both so afraid of letting go

of the safety of the rope,

we hold on until with hands red raw and cracking

I reach out

1

November eighteenth

Maybe it was the way I was brought up
But suppressing my hurt,
and pain has always been how I dealt with everything.

 

But for you,
I think you deserve for the tears to always roll ,
For the tears to run and fill the Nile
To fill the Nile you always told us to stay away from
Not to get too close to the edge

 

Because it will never look the same,
knowing that the house I grew up in,
Continues to exists next to it,
without you in it

 

You were what life was about in Sudan
You were what I would have travelled three thousand miles for
You were the earliest memory of love I remember.
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Three Years Post June 26th

You were never worthy for me,
you are not worthy of me
there is value in me
Or so the self-help books tell me
to keep repeating
until I know it’s true
but I see more value in tearing you down.

Looking at the perfectly poised  picture you display to the world.
I dissect it with each pixel.
Knowing that you hate to smile,
Because of you’re messed up teeth.

There is a small tragedy  that no one but I knows
in the way that you fold your hands,
away from the world.
Trying to hide the marks  of your childhood.

You said
it took you  22 years to learn
to open just the index page of your mind,
but yet can stand presidentially in an audience
and deliver the speech to bring world peace.

Caring does not always mean thoughtful

Knowing that my self-confidence was just a fragile book
made from quotes,
you carelessly set it on fire.

You may say that it is immoral
to tear down a man,
but I was silent for two years
forgetting that my words were my tools,
was like cutting a surgeons hands.
But never fear my SWORDS have now been sharpened.
So watch this space.
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