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Poems and Tales

Emotional Poems about Broken Heart, Life Struggles, Love and Pain

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Poems about Love

What type of poem do you like reading?

Poems about Love, or poems about life struggles, or even poems about death!! Well, that might not matter now. But here, we assure you of something, having a good read.

 

Poem is a mild and calm melody slowly played to show depth of feelings or emotions. But, circumstances has made some poems more enjoyable. Example, a poem about death read when feeling sad can have major emotional reflex.

Also, Poems falls
under various sector with various names apportioned to them.

We got poems about broken heart, poems about Love, poems about pains and many more.

Although, Emotional poems have very powerful spot on soft hearts. Some poems could be so affectionate to the mind and soul while so could develop our mind for suspense or rest.

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Below is a poem by EFE.

Tales of the broken hearted’
Sometimes I wonder how I feel
You’ve hurt me but it’s possible to heal
Emotions filling my stomach, I don’t want a meal
My heart is breaking, I taught it was made of steel
I remember the good days, those memories I can’t kill
How did it happen, my eyes stay still,
The tears flow, I try to conceal,
The numbness inside I don’t want to reveal
My mouth wide open, the words are not going spill,
I close my eyes and wish all this is not real
No. I can’t give up that’s the deal
I’ll fight for you, die for you, yes I will
I hope this reaches your heart openly without a seal
And our love should come back around spinning like a wheel
[embedyt] https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vfW9rBpyabQ[/embedyt]

History from time long ago has produce great poets who write poems about varying topics. Poets are those with the efficient skills of writing poems, breaking boredom and creating excitement.

Also, Poems has played a major role in the human mind and body system. All  at one time in life has probably sang a poem.

 

But wait, take for an instance the nursing mother who sings to her baby before bed time, that can be a lovely poem depending on its format and content. That possible a poem about the stars and moon.

 

Examine another lovely poem written by Zarah below.

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Sounds of sand in love!
If starry space no limit.. And sun succeeds to sun…
There is no reason to suppose. Our earth the only one.
Min’s countless constellations cast, A million words may be 
With each a heart to bless or blast , And to steer up devises
Just think, A million heart or so.. To guide it vital stream
Without all to the boss.(love)
A deity supreme
Such Magnitude oppress my heart, From cosmic space it wings
So untimely it comes but hard to find
Relief in little things. For look!!!. Within my hallow hand
While around earth careens, I wonder what it means 
Ahhh… getting so late to notice
Only to realize it LOVE
And it’s a mystery…

Events are said to cause emotions, those feelings in expressive words produce a poem with relation to our present feelings. Lots of poems have being written worldwide, some are so short while others so long.

 

An Indian poem called the Mahabharata is said to be the longest poem with over a million words.

Emotional poems about life struggles

The world has globally recognize march 21st as world poet day, so write a poem, be a poet and be proud to join the celebration.

 

Read the poem title Broken by TeamTegz below.

 

* BROKEN *
Drenched by my tear, The wind rejected me, 
Fear envelopes my heart, My heart is crumbled, 
Can’t pick up the pieces, The chains of loneliness grip me, 
But the news of your leaving, Kept me in darkness for so long, 
In there I remembered,  Those nights you sang to me a song, 
Oh! My heart has failed me.  In some way I thought I could do it, 
But the ghost in me, Kept pushing me towards you, 
Although I cried not because you left, You were happy without me, 
But it’s not the same now again, This time, am gearing up, 
Re-engine myself, Be friend the wind, 
This time, am bracing up, To the ghost in me I say, 
“YOUR TIME IS UP”
Since you forgot me, 
Am doing the same. 

Some great poet of all time include

  • Wole Soyinka born in 1934 and from Nigeria.
  • Ana Paula Arendt born in 1980 and from Brazil.
  • Mustafa Nissaboury born in 1943 and from Morocco.
  • Also, Ken Saro Wiwa, the freedom fighter was from Nigeria was a great historical poet.
  • Shady Yasin born in 1984 and from Somalia.
  • David Rubadiri born in 1930 and from Malawi.
  • Also, Gabriel Okpara born in 1921 and from Nigeria was notable for his poems.
  • Ari Sitas born in 1952 and from South Africa.
  • Elizabeth Akers born in 1832 and from America, Although late, her poems ain’t LATE.

These are just but a very few poets, they were not the best in poetry, but they had impacting words to the readers of poem.

Thinking of the benefit of being a poet is far more than imagine. It opens the door to world of vocabulary development, create recognition in the society, although a poem is relatively short, those lines can pierce the heart, and lot others.

Try reading poems, try writing some.

Also, feel free to mail us your poem for publishing here.

 

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Naabiae Nenu-B is an Epic Photographer and a Passionate Writer. His Epic Nature Photos and Writing Skills has Awarded lot of Recommendations and Online services.

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7 Comments

7 Comments

  1. Jenny

    September 22, 2017 at 12:38 pm

    This poems are truely lovely.

  2. folorentorium

    January 13, 2019 at 3:16 pm

    Hmm it looks like your site ate my first comment (it was super long) so I guess I’ll just sum it up what I submitted and say, I’m thoroughly enjoying your blog. I too am an aspiring blog blogger but I’m still new to the whole thing. Do you have any tips for beginner blog writers? I’d really appreciate it.

  3. alles weitere finden Sie hier

    January 16, 2019 at 11:39 pm

    Having read this I thought it was very informative. I appreciate you taking the time and effort to put this article together. I once again find myself spending way to much time both reading and commenting. But so what, it was still worth it!

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Poems and Tales

Tears of Nelson Sousa And The Blood Field – An African War Story

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Summary – This is an imaginative story about a Rwandan and Nigerian born called Nelson Sousa.

Directly or indirectly, the characters are in no way referred to any one at all, but 100% imaginative. If you like this post, I will write more.

African War Story

In the dark era of apartheid, Nelson Sousa was born in Nusenga to a Rwandan father and a Nigerian mother. After a childhood primary and secondary school education in Nigeria, enduring lost of civil wars and economical crisis, his family moved to Rwanda for a greener pasture and peaceful environment.

Facing the first scornful looking military personnel along the border sparked an awkward and scary sensation deep down their nerves. Rusty waste along the street, widowed women mourning loudly, hungry kids pulling the cloth of passerby, the Nelson’s family regretted a once happy decision.

With eyes filled with blood, little Nelson looked up to Dad and ask, “Papi Papi are we going to die? Why are people running like wild antelope like those in Kupentog forest?”, “Please answer me, I want to …” rapid gun fire filled the air. The dark angry Rwandans dread bands were on the move, robbing and carrying societal vices. Some looking so young, carrying heavy guns and leaves tied around their waist, they kept shooting mercilessly.

Grabbing Nelson and having his wife follow them closely, seemed a brilliant and safe idea. 15 minutes of zik zag running for safety, she dropped flat. She has being gunned down. Nelson watched his mum drop down like an antelope shot in the wild. Seeking safety beneath a truck, Nelson was faced with life reality. “Papi papi, look mami is dead” he said crying.

Seven (7) years later, Nelson lost his father due to stroke, he was now an orphanage in his homeland, making Rwanda the home of peace was his vision. From local school head to a community activist, he won the hearth of the masses and joined the country politics. Throw back to the memories of an African War Story .

Subsequently, after three (3) years of political struggle, he was assassinated by an unknown assassin. His death was acclaimed to be from the opposing party. Today, his written poem is stilled used to honor him for his courage and service to humanity.

This Is an African War story & it is associated with a poem. Click link below to read poem.

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Poems and Tales

Poem Of An African War Story – Red Sky

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An African War Story

Gripping tree bark and gnashing my teeth seems ah balance diet

A proud land filled with germinating bullets on the plain field

Green white green land covered with red black red tears and blood

O Nusenga, you never said welcome

 

Rapid shots and cries defiled my ears

Killing skills became the industrious skills I imagined

The kids lift arms and smile at their new record

I feel many man they brag

 

Like a fallen tree, will mami ever rise again?

Well I fall too? Nusenga will you always love me

Family away forever, the struggle just beginning,

The cock that crows are heard by kids,

Food is hard undeniably, tears is at disposal,

Millions of falling heros – your only Grammy Award,

Chapters of an African war story

 

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Poems and Tales

The First Time I Ate Nigerian Akpu – Hilarious Funny Tale

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The First Time I Ate Nigerian Akpu – Hilarious Funny Tale

 

I think I was born when food was cheap. When you could eat a meal and not worry about its cost. I didn’t eat eba until I was 7 and that was after my Dad moved us from Lagos to Kano. The ajebutter in me obviously. Though I have been kpakofied I’m butter at heart. I grew up on pounded yam and amala but mostly pounded yam.

I enjoyed pounded yam so much so that I could eat it morning, afternoon and night. Even during my service year. All through my stay in camp in Keffi, Nasarawa state all I ate for dinner was pounded yam. Nothing else. There was always a plate for me no matter the rush of customers. Won fi iyan se epe fun mi walahi. (Dem use pounded yam swear for me).

 

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And don’t be worried if you’re thinking “I can’t marry him, he’ll want me to pound”. I can pound. Just make my soup. Nsala preferably. Husband material inside boutique kan bu. And please go mix that your poundo flour with cement.

Now I picked up a habit from my constant intake of pounded yam. It made me a chewer. You know how pounded yam is just yam pounded into pulp. Mum had this fond habit of giving me some without soup while she was pounding.

It was a guise or gimmick to calm me if I was hungry, maybe cos’ of my love for it or sometimes to get me a bit full before the meal was ready.

 

Either way there was no soup, so I chewed it. And therefore I chewed everything. Even eba. White amala, black amala. I chew. Scrunch your faces all you want.

 

 

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Yeah I know you’re saying “how can someone be chewing ‘swallow’.” Well, don’t some of you dip bread inside tea?

Kan nukwa na mmili ju oyi ka ji eme garri. (Let me hear that they use cold water to make eba).

Seriously I have tried not chewing ‘swallows’ but the food gets stuck in my throat but don’t mistake it for meekness. Don’t ever think you want to have a eat down with me or cheat me when eating.

 

Service year I had to be served separately anytime we tried to eat communally in the lodge. I had a cooler mouth and never seemed to get burnt. I am the flash in food battles. Just ju kwa ajuju (ask questions).

Sorry I digress. So, on this day I don’t know the thing that happened. My aunty who was staying with us just went to market and came back with the stuff she had bought. Prepared ofe okulu with my mum(okra soup). I was playing seriously and didn’t know when the meal was ready.

“Junior come and eat your food.” My aunt called. ‘Piaaaauuun’ I was inside like a jet. Ahan. I was surprised. Pounded yam and Okulu(Okra soup. When did they pound? How come nobody called me to come and take some to chew? I was feeling pained. “Aunty Onyebuchi you pounded yam?” Aunty Buchi nodded with a mischievous smile. I didn’t understand.

 

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I called out to my mum. “Mummy you didn’t call me to come and take yam when you were pounding.” My mother just made one sound, “humwumwumhum.” I squeezed my face. What kind of answer is that sef?

I was forming sullen but my mother had finished work on the okulu. If you must sell your birthright like Esau did do it with an African dish like ofe okulu with diced pomo, beef, dry fish, ezigbo ose(better pepper) ya na okporoko(stock fish) not porridge.

See smoke for the soup. Seriously Esau fall hand there. When ordinary pant is bringing benz. Somebody sold his full birthright for Quaker Oats? With goat or sheep milk oooh. Not like it is Ladha milk or Peak. If I say tueeh now.

Something smelt funny in the house. I sniffed the air. I couldn’t place it. I looked around curiously. “Aunty what is smelling?” My aunt shrugged.

Anyway I cut the ‘pounded yam’ and threw like three lumps mixed with soup into my mouth. I chewed and tried to swallow. That’s when I noticed the taste. Hoemaigod! What was this? My body went krrraaaavrrrooo.

 

The taste slapped me. I shivered. My mouth was full. I was chewing but couldn’t swallow. I stopped. I looked at the food inside the plate. I was perceiving some weird shitty odour. I raised my hand and smelt it.

‘Ehiiiiiieeeee’ had this people packaged shit for me to eat laikdis ‘ni tori olohun’. The only smell worse than this smell in history of my young age and adventures around the kitchen was the ogiri smell. That one? I will never understand how something that smells that bad makes soup taste so good.

The acidic taste of this akpu was something else. I was flabbergasted. By now my mouth was full of ‘unswalloable’ akpu. I felt something crawling up my stomach. The ajebutter worms in my tummy were pushing the akpu back.” No way Junior we dinnor sign up for this shit,” the worms screamed.

“Dear worms I dinnor signup for this shit either but it’s in my mouth.” I conveyed to the worms telepathically. I was in dilemma. I forcefully swallowed the akpu with water. The worms barricaded my throat.”Bros lai lai we no gree oh. This thing no pass here. Highest, hunger go kill us all. Make dem make eba or you drink the soup like that. We die here.” The worms chanted in unison.

 

 

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“Are you okay?,” Mum asked. See kweshion Mrs Omoko was asking. See my mouth full from my first few morsels. I wasn’t chewing or swallowing. I was sweating profusely. I was far from okay you this woman. You people have poisoned me. All traces of the soup has left the morsels in my mouth. At that moment I wanted to cut my tongue

I tried to answer and I knew what would happen. Regurgitation. ‘ Viuuummm’ I was out and in the backyard dropping every single thing in my tummy and throat. Even my intestine wanted to escort the akpu out. But the worms held it back. “Yeaaaaaaah” I could hear victory chants by the worms. I had spoiled this worms.

From that day I started smelling my food. Nothing was sacred anymore. All this happened in the early nineties.

Then my parents left me in Kano in 99/2000 with an aunt. Agwahom agwa (Nobody told me). By the time hunger had touched different points of my destiny I learnt how to eat akpu.

Now I can eat Akpu for breakfast without blinking. Food that destroys hunger for hours. Six to Six. I chew it too. It is the Lord’s doing and it is marvellous in my eyes.

©Rick


This Story Was Submitted To Xycinews News Media.

 

 

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