Grief and Poetry
I don't remember exactly how I found poetry. The beginning of my writing journey was filled with unfinished stories and thoughts I couldn't get ahold of. Even when I finally began to catch them, I still managed to convince myself that I couldn't write poetry. I still tell myself that by the way. But I found solace in freewrite. I can explore as much as I want, no styles or restrictions required.

Poetry. One word yet very powerful. It's a little funny how we pen down feelings both light and dark everyday and we give them a name. We categorise them as a poem yet we don't think about how therapeutic that one word is.

I found poetry during the darkest phase of my life. The time I believed I had nothing left to live for. The first poem I wrote scared someone I considered a friend. I posted it online. He called and refused to get off the phone till he was sure I was alright. I won't bore you with the details.

This here is one of my earliest poems. I don't remember when I wrote it or what I was thinking about.

Grief. This, I always run away from. When you lose one too many loved ones, you tend to stay away. But one thing I've learned is that you can't really run away from it. You just have to face it or the healing will never come. I'm this person whose feelings are always on the surface, but I can mask it so well that the person next to me won't notice a thing. I'm that good. It's a blessing and also a curse.

For a year, I struggled with pain, both mine and my Mamas. I watched her suffer and there was absolutely nothing I could do about it. I buried and swallowed till I couldn't anymore. It's a miracle I'm walking around today, sane and all. Maybe the diary series I started when I couldn't keep things in again did the trick. Everyday, I would write down what I felt. When I watched life leave her body,when I kept touching her till she turned completely cold, there was nothing left to feel.

Do you remember the sound 

Which wakes you each morning?

Is it the chirping of birds,

The shouts of the neighbours children, 

The snoring of a lover,

Or the soft fingers of your little one?

What did they call you as a child?

What do they call you now?

Is it the same sweetness they named me?

I wonder if they lied to you too, 

And if like me you tried to live up to it. 

Do you still believe them?

Do you know pain and aloneness?

The type that wakes you each morning,

Silently telling you fake it once more.

Do you close your eyes to it

While quietly turning it into a sound?

Do you accept it and bask in it?

When did you recognise who you are?

How did you discover your real name?

I am a wild child.

Wildness is me and I am it.

I wake each morning wanting more. 

Is it the same for you?

Do you have dreams?

Do you feed your unquiet soul?

Do you derive pleasure from any of it, 

Or you live each day waiting for it to end?

Does it make your heart beat faster?

Are you happy?

I like to think that I've gotten to a place where I can share a part of my grief. That's probably why I'm writing this. There're still days I wake too tired. I like to blame it on work and things. The spontaneous tears still happen. I'm yet to get to that part where the happy memories are all that's left. For a long time I blamed myself. If I had done or said things differently, she might still be here. Maybe I still do. I have a lot to say, but I still struggle to find the words.

One day, I'll tell you all about it. Love too. For now, one more poetry.

A day has finally come

When all I want to do is live

I used to wish I could fly away

To a land where there's peace and harmony

My definition of peace was quietude, loneliness even

I wanted it so badly it hurts

Now, I'm born anew

And all I want to stay present

For the people I love and who love me

Peace can be right here with me

I raise my face to the sun

I let the air caress my face

I watch the wind play with my hair

The trees all make sense now

I find comfort in their shades

And the smell of unripe fruits

I sit under them reminiscing

About the blessings of nature

How gently the branches sway

How colourful the fields are

I do not recognise my tired soul

It's all I've known all my life

Still, I can't find it

The chaos in my mind have disappeared

The uncertainties are all gone

The voices and fears, silent

I'm on a path of redemption

Not from sins or betrayals

I'm yet to find what I'm seeking

But I'm not worried about the answer



image source



Official_omah _
23 May

I raise my face to the sun and the the air caress my face.....  This part of the poem has a whole lot of emotions enclosed in it


Chinyere Vivian
23 May

I'm glad it got to you. Thanks for reading.


Michael Olubodun
23 May

With this beautiful poetry, yet u assume you don't know how to write poetry... The saying is true, the gifted doesn't know how gifted they are... U r doing well


Chinyere Vivian
23 May

Thank you. I appreciate the words.


Jovito Odili
23 May

When there's a reason to write, the heart would definitely be poured out beacuse it's about emotions and feelings 


Chinyere Vivian
23 May

Can't say I disagree. The heart listens to us.


Naijacryptogirl .
23 May

Grief had a way of bringing out the best in you. Poetry is beautiful and I'm glad you discovered the gift 


Chinyere Vivian
23 May

Thank you. I do appreciate.


Hadi Hadi
23 May

Men in butterfly







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