#Blackpoems

4 posts
  • madinah_writes 24w

    *A Struggle For Independence*



    If independence is achieved on a platter of gold,
    The institution of colonialism will remain forever it strong and old.

    Yet, we dream and follow promises complain their fake-interests.
    Everybody was creating the blames,
    Nobody was fixing the problems.


    Long Ago,
    In the African World.
    The old father's the young immediately after sunsets.
    It was time for storytelling.
    Time for entertainment and moral lesson.

    Grandma tell me this!
    Grandma tell me that!
    Grandma tell me why the tortoise have a rough, shelly back?
    Why is the dog a hunter's pet?
    And why is lion the king of the jungle?
    That was so much fun,
    The children would gather under the faint mango tree.
    Singing historical and cultural songs.
    Alo o! Aloooo!!
    Follows another set of mind blowing riddles.

    The children would rack their minds to answer grandma's questions.
    Brain cracking, riddle follows.
    Then, as I heard.
    Children would laugh to Grandma's stories and ask brainstorming questions.
    With words of wisdom where everyone could think by themselves.
    So I was told...

    And now, I'm growing.
    To what our life and living has become;
    Like a bird's empty nest, that was once filled with life.
    Now, I stare at the African life of nothingness.
    What I see is failed promises and bloodshed.
    End SARS now! A dark, starless world in silence.
    As the youth of today cry and seek for the best.
    Hoping for a future that like a fairytale, might never come.

    When the best is traded for selflessness.
    What are we doing?
    Where are we going?
    Who is our tomorrow?
    When today is full of sorrow.
    Are we getting wiser?
    When all we depend on is Google and the internet?
    Are we even blessed?
    When we await betterment from our so called leaders.
    Would there ever be a change or all these sufferings are permanent?
    Or have we forsaken the gods of the land?
    Which is which? I need to know.
    What is next, we need to think.
    Why is our tomorrow,
    Laying at the end of the brink?

    War of independence,
    Seen through it's eyes.
    That sees no transformation,
    All in the name of change.
    They change for the post of power that never satisfies them.
    The war of independence is war of death!

    Lasted with several years with thousand souls, dead.
    Dusted and forgotten.
    Women and children,
    Expecting genuine freedom from colonial rule!
    The independence they promised was not real, ungranted.
    Everyone was hungry to sit by the side of the power pot!

    The rich were getting richer and the poor, poorer.
    We were made as a stepping stones for the colonial masters. 
    Those days and still now.
    Independence turned out to be opposite,
    Corruption and injustice.



    ©Madinah_Writes




    #Blackpoetry #Freedom #EndSARS #mirakee #Miraquill #Acienttimes #Africa #Aficanworld #Writersnetwork #Africanstruggles #Independence #Thought #Emotional #sadpoems #reality #prose #writersbay #politics #power #democracy #Blackpoems

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    A Struggle For Independence

    If independence is achieved on a platter of gold,
    The institution of colonialism will remain forever it strong and old.

    Yet, we dream and follow promises complain their fake-interests.
    Everybody was creating the blames,
    Nobody was fixing the problems.

    Long Ago,
    In the African World.
    The old father's the young immediately after sunsets.
    It was time for storytelling.
    Time for entertainment and moral lesson.

    Grandma tell me this!
    Grandma tell me that!
    Grandma tell me why the tortoise have a rough, shelly back?
    Why is the dog a hunter's pet?
    And why is lion the king of the jungle?
    That was so much fun,
    The children would gather under the faint mango tree.
    Singing historical and cultural songs.
    Alo o! Aloooo!!
    Follows another set of mind blowing riddles.

    The children would rack their minds to answer grandma's questions.
    Brain cracking, riddle follows.
    Then, as I heard.
    Children would laugh to Grandma's stories and ask brainstorming questions.
    With words of wisdom where everyone could think by themselves.
    So I was told...

    And now, I'm growing.
    To what our life and living has become;
    Like a bird's empty nest, that was once filled with life.
    Now, I stare at the African life of nothingness.
    What I see is failed promises and bloodshed.
    End SARS now! A dark, starless world in silence.
    As the youth of today cry and seek for the best.
    Hoping for a future that like a fairytale, might never come.

    When the best is traded for selflessness.
    What are we doing?
    Where are we going?
    Who is our tomorrow?
    When today is full of sorrow.
    Are we getting wiser?
    When all we depend on is Google and the internet?
    Are we even blessed?
    When we await betterment from our so called leaders.
    Would there ever be a change or all these sufferings are permanent?
    Or have we forsaken the gods of the land?
    Which is which? I need to know.
    What is next, we need to think.
    Why is our tomorrow,
    Laying at the end of the brink?

    War of independence,
    Seen through it's eyes.
    That sees no transformation,
    All in the name of change.
    They change for the post of power that never satisfies them.
    The war of independence is war of death!

    Lasted with several years with thousand souls, dead.
    Dusted and forgotten.
    Women and children,
    Expecting genuine freedom from colonial rule!
    The independence they promised was not real, ungranted.
    Everyone was hungry to sit by the side of the power pot!

    The rich were getting richer and the poor, poorer.
    We were made as a stepping stones for the colonial masters. 
    Those days and still now.
    Independence turned out to be opposite,
    Corruption and injustice.
    ©madinah_writes

  • kenney8dorcely9 108w

    This is not a plot for revenge, on old friend.
    Declaration i no longer need to pretend.
    how much do i care; not passing the blunt.
    No stunt doubles, gett blinded by the front.

    Not tryna be petty; tryna close the past.
    Unaware the bridge had burn down to ash.
    A notice would have been cool, but it be like that.
    What would have happened if i just ask for night cat.


    The first go around, will not lie, it was hell.
    A reason, i stuck around and then I fell.
    Walking around thinking we had a bond.
    Somethings dead, no comin from the beyond.

    No throwing shade, im hoping you the best.
    This me putting the shot i shoot to rest.
    Second time around, not playing the pest.
    Why would i retake a quiz when I already past the test?
    ©kenney8dorcely9

  • kaosthekre8tor 165w

    When Roses Die

    While phantoms of the past fill my mind causing me to smile, mournful tears fall all the while.
    Each tear is a memory to be relived only in my heart. Each sob is a pain that stems from being apart.
    As these ghosts of joyous thoughts widen the rivers from my eyes, I am haunted by apparitions of a happier time.
    Sitting here smiling and reminiscing while my eyes cry. This is what happens when roses die.
    The brightest days turn to the darkest nights. Barren deserts replace what use to be a flourishing life.
    Pain steals every bit of joy from your heart. No longer knowing what it is to play your part.
    Crying openly with no end in sight, you hold on to your last bit of strength with all your might.
    Doing every thing you can to keep your head to the sky. This is what happens when roses die.
    Clinging to joy while pain surrounds your heart, longing for the time when your joy did start.
    Watching the leaves on the tree of life, change from green to yellow to red. Chasing away horrible thoughts from your head.
    Sleep is no longer a safe heaven from the touch of pain, the love of family barley able to keep you sane.
    Brightness and joy no longer reside in your eyes. You find that your faith is in short supply.
    Your soul or your dreams find it hard to fly. This is what happens when roses die.


    ©kaosthekre8tor

  • kaosthekre8tor 165w

    Storm

    I sit under a sky, dim, purple and gray. The lack of light betrays the day.
    Drop after drop drips from my forehead as my head hangs down. I wonder how many tears mixed with the water at my feet would be found?
    Sound is nonexistent but a crack in the darkness tells me that the sky is about to speak. I don’t want to hear it. Its waters are all I seek.
    They conceal what is real better than I can today. My mask is cracked and I needed a chance to put it away.
    But the sky knows better because as it shouts, I scream. The sky agrees with my proposal to continue to hide so it seems
    Not sure when it happened but I find my head now raised. Begging the sky to wash away the building rage.
    In unison, we scream again. Another release of what we cannot contain. The sky again masking audible pain.
    Rain still falling, tears flow freely because now they have friends. I know this rain will stop. But will this hurt ever end?

    ©kaosthekre8tor