I DON’T WANT THIS KIND OF LOVE

pblI don’t want this kind of love. I’m not used to it, I mean this your kind of love.

The kind of love you keep giving me and you claim it will fry my brain!!

The kind of love that makes me sneak to your father’s compound when everybody is dead asleep, it gives me problems, Jaber you see: I have to wait for your  parents to sleep, call for Osama, your big dog and entice him with some leftover we devoured at my place (i’m not saying you never cook any stews ), then trace the tree you did tie the rope that is attached to your feet and pull just to wake you up (why do you have to sleep that much when you know i’m coming). You do remember what happened the day the rope broke and i had to scale the thorny fence and knock at the kitchen door where you sleep, Dichol  remember how your father chased me thinking  I was a thief! I had to dodge him and lie stiff dead along the fence …he kept stepping on my head thinking it was a stone!

You see that’s the kind of love I don’t want, so stop giving it to me… this your love that I have to align myself with a tree or jump in a nearby bush every time we are talking and your neighbors walk by…

The kind of love that I have to wait till dusk is when we can meet, Dichol why do you hate daylight, why don’t you want to be seen with me!!? Black is beauty only when its hit by the sun…

So add me some little more, because the one you saying will turn me to a mad man is just but cold water… I don’t need it … Honestly I don’t want it, I’m tired of changing directions every time i spot your mother on my path.

Dichol warn your brother, pull tell him to stop writing our names on every sisal on the path leading to the river… I hate gossips…

All i need you to do is to spice it up a bit, daughter of my in-law, you don’t greet me like i have leprosy and when we meet under our favorite tree in odd hours, you would yelp, leap and overthrow my lean frame with what you call a bare hug.

Do you know how ladies slice themselves with knives when i tell them NO..!!! If you cant love me like normal people do then you should perhaps allow me give you some lessons.

US TO WE! 

Your eyes 
Are like two windows
To a quaint 
And charming soul.

Your lips
Two fine-carved doorposts
To a fragrant 
Sugar bowl.

Your cheeks – 
Frames of perfection
‘Bout your 
Painted-perfect face.

Your eyebrows – 
Wisps of beauty.
The adornment 
Of your grace.

Your neck
A fragile tower
From one treasure
To the next.

Your shoulders
Cap the wonder
Of the form
That has me vexed.

Your breasts
Pillows of pleasure
On a frame
Of perfect grace.

Your belly
Soft, inviting, 
Beckoning me 
Down to that place.

And when
I cup my hands
And bring your pleasure 
To my lips,

I reel 
At the narcotic
Of your moan
And bucking hips.

Your love
Is like the fragrance
Of desire
To my soul.

Your heart
Is like the treasure
Of my heaping 
Ice-cream bowl.

Your lips 
I find the keyhole
That unlocks 
My wildest bliss.

Your body
The nutrition
That I take 
With each sweet kiss.

And when I think
In wonder
That this woman 
Is my own,

I shake my head
And thank the Lord
For this 
My Bone of bone.

#bigeyes. 

I WOULD NEVER WRITE A POEM ABOUT LOVE. 

I would never write a poem about love-

But on that night you showed me

There was nothing left to write but love.

I would never write a poem about love-

But on that night as your drunk words played 

Sweet inviting rhythms in my drunk ears,

You showed me there was nothing left to write but love.



I would never write a poem about love-

But on that night as we took turn on a single bottle of wine,

As my dried lips touched its edge- wet with your wine flavoured saliva,

As I hoped it was your lips instead,

You showed me there was nothing left to write but love.



I would never write a poem about love –

As I bid you goodnight,

As I wrapped you in my arms for a hug- tight,

As I pulled back from you and whispered;

            ‘may I taste your tongue tonight?’

As you leaned forward and closed your eyes,

And you opened your mouth,

As I reached for you and parted my lips too to finally open yours,

As I grabbed your waist,

And I pulled you even closer,

Our groins joined together,

As everything became nothing;

As everyone became no one,

As you became the one,

As we became one,

As our mouth found each other,

And I finally sucked your tongue soft and slow and then harder,

All at once, so tender,

As everything around us on the roof top blew like firework in the dark,

In the city wherein it’s forbidden,

You showed me that if all of these were not love then this is not,

And I still have not written a poem about love

#PillsandPoems 

BLACK WIDOW ART THEE

I have been referred to 

With numerous names,

I have been spoken of,

For playing mind games.

I have been called

An opportunistic,

Who uses her womanly wiles,

To get her way,

And get away,

With people by using smiles.

If I wear bright colours,

A bungle, a bindi,

And a pair of earring,

I’m said to have 

Taken pains

To look good and dress up.

If I laugh aloud,

I have no shame,

If I don’t I’m a snob,

If I’m independent,

They think it’s due to my job.

I have had enough and now it’s time,

For me to raise my voice,

I am, a widow, I agree,

But I was never by choice.

I’m not a widow of opportunity,

Nor a tissue to be used and throw,

Neither am I a damsel in despair,

Nor a broken bow.

I do not need any shoulder

To cry and lean on,

Do not think I’m emotionally weak,

I don’t need another ‘someone’

I really pity 

The people who see

The smile on my face for their notion,

They can never see 

The pain within me,

For them my heart isn’t open.

Not that my life 

Is centered around

What people think and say. 

I live my life,

On my own terms,

I follow my own pathway.

I am still married 

To the man I love,

Even if I’m called a widow,

My heart knows

That he knows it too,

Because my soul tells me so. 

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#PillsandPoems