The art of Love Letter writing is dead and gone. Killed by science and technology. A tragedy, I must say. It was one of the best forms of expressing ones self and I took advantage of it.
I spent a lot of time writing love letters for my secondary school classmates to their girlfriends. I was so good at it. I could paint pictures with words. And of course I avoided those ambiguous words. Never for once did I use the sugar in my tea or cockroach in my cupboard routine. The cockroach thing is nonsense biko. That annoying and irritating creature has no business in anything that has to do with love.
Anyway there was this very beautiful girl who lived across the street. Anita. I had tried unsuccessfully to convey my feelings to her.
Her mom sold food so Anita had to help out and was never chanced. She was the last of 5 girls but older than the only boy Francis. Anita always gave me this smile every time I passed their stall. I looked for any excuse to walk past the stall. Sometimes I’d walk past there 15 times just for her smile.
She’liked to call me Ju Love or Shebi love. I was the only kid in the area who was “shebiing” courtesy my move from Lag to Kano. Took me years to switch to ‘ko’. That ‘Love’ she calls me used to scatter my punk. One time like that her mother wasn’t in the stall and I passed by as usual. Anita called out, “Ju Lov”. There was a quantum shift in equilibrium. Smiling like a fool l walked into tree. ‘Wawu’ the pain was intense but smile remained.
So I wrote her a letter. I racked my brain. My imagination was in hyper. I was going to bedazzle and bamboozle her. I poured my heart out. ! One day by chance she came to fetch water in my compound.and I gave her the letter for her personal consumption. Unfortunately village people had other plans.
I was at home when I heard noise outside. “Where that Junior. E dey write my pikin letter. Make him mama hold am o.” No escape route for me for at that moment cos I’d just finished washing plates and was arranging it. My mother looked at me and asked what the noise was about. I feinged ignorance. At that moment Anita’s mum came marching in, holding Anita by the ear and dragging her along. Boy was I so dead.
“Madam what’s the problem”, my mum asked. Anita’s mum heaving and panting passed the letter to mum and told her I’d written a love letter to her daughter. Everywhere went quiet.”Read what you wrote”, my mum said. I held the paper.
With one eye on the paper and the other eye on my mum, Anita and her mum I cleared my throat and began to read. “Dear Aniluv.” My mothers neck became erect. I moved back. Na die I dey today.
I continued. “My reason for writing this letter is that I may not get the chance to convey my deep feelings for you in person. We’re policed by our parents and are time constrained.” An Igbo woman in the compound just shouted “Supu”. I almost smiled even Anita too. Love sweet sha. I looked into my mum’s eyes see thunder and lighting. Nothing about love in those eyes.
“Your smile lights up my day. The way your tongue caresses my name leaves me in a state of euphoria and unbridled joy. When I don’t see you I lose all appetite for food.”My mother eyed me upandan like coman eat this night lemme see.”
I knew I was truly finished when I saw the next line. Na me write am. It was sweet when I wrote it but reading it to my mum? Death! “You’re a queen and I adore you. Please be mine. I will do anything for you. Climb mountains for you. Cross rivers and oceans. My mum is my jewel but you’re my crown jewel.”
I scattered 3 legs of the table I was standing on. I could not see any white part of my mothers eyes again. Everything was shinning red red. ‘Wozzzzzaaaaiiii’ I collected one on my left cheek and ear. The weight of the slap carried me into a pile of clothes she had arranged. She screamed “Finish that letter. She is your crown jewel okwa ya.”
Mama Junior take am sofrey na only letter o”, Anita’s mother whispered. My mother eyed her. The woman kuku draw her child near her side. Bhet wait! What was the woman expecting when she came to report me? That my mum would lovingly hug me and we would live happily ever after?
I got up barely seeing anything through tears and the ‘weeeennnn’ sound in my ear. “Your eyes are like the stars. Bright and twinkling. You’re shaped like a goddess. I could sleep on your bosom till eternity. So soft and………
‘Tazzzzzaiiiiii’! My mum dropped the second slap on the same spot. It was no longer ‘weeeeen’ sound it was ‘waaaaaaaaannnnnnnn’. I had scattered the remaining leg of the table. “So Chukwufumnanaya e metu be go ala( Chukwufumnanya you have started touching bwess)”, mum growled.
Heiiiii! This was really bad. I was sniffling holding back the tears and hot catarrh I felt like blowing, “No Mummy it’s….it’s….it’s…my imagination.”
“Ehen so you’re imagining bwess”, she shouted. Confused I replied “No mum it’s temporary thoughts.” She just picked the spatula and gave me at the top of my head ‘kooommm’ I don’t know when I shouted “Mummy it’s the devil that pushed me.” My mama no dey hear that kain nonsense. She gave me extra doses of semi permanent marks to remember the day by.
Village people 100. Me zero. I stopped passing Anita’s stall. In fact my eyes were always in front when passing. Then I went and watched adult video with her brother Francis but that’s another story.
Emotional Poems about Broken Heart, Life Struggles, Love and Pain
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.
Below is a poem by EFE.
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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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.
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.
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.
DRUNK IN POETRY
*DRUNK IN POETRY*
Back to drinking always
Hoping to achieve full sacks
Never to be called a fool who lacks
Young lad turns bad
Dad get mad for poets
He’s always inking and never sinking
Poetry with it poultry
It rears and bears words for the world
Gotten from emotions through motions and actions
This drink cost alot of sacrifice
It’s a calling from God not gods
It’s made fancy with great fantasy
Scribbling and dribbling every morning to get the perfect target from imperfect tar get
All to write and get proper paid money from improper laid
It’s right so it keeps occurring and recurring every night
Learning more leads to earning more
A bard called an addict for poems
We pray for positive ray of glories from our negative stories to get the best card from the rest pad
WRITTEN BY Cynthia Maduekwe (CyanahPENBARD not bad)
Chinwendu Chinonyerem Emmanuel(SYNW ALVAN and NSCW FINANCIAL SECRETARY) and Maduekwe Cynthia Chinenye (SYNW-UCC and NSCW FINANCIAL SECRETARY)
.DUET ON THE TOPIC: *DEAR GOD!*
Death speaking in tongues,
As a flame of fire tongue
Waiting like a waiter to receive the glory of shame through men
For they act like hen
What will I gain gain from this question WHEN?
Where every huddles of beast has turned to a gist
I respect the voice of the wilderness,
For the desert has wildered away in my twinkle like a disappearance star
Waiting to see the moon in no avail of its angle
Calling the angEL of angLE
To stand for me in the darkest path
Pushing me away from the rocky parts
The big eye is at its centre of equilibrium
Having its measurement at the pendulum of the cambium
Recording the result as insult
For the innovations has turned to renovations
For I know I have a salvation that will take me to the sanctuary
The pad has turned to bad
For the hope is now in between the spoke of a bicycle
Reason me ohhh God
For my people are now dog
Trying to dodge from the dirge of the succors
Belittling the scorpion as a tiny beast of the breast
That will rest in the chest of the heavenly bed…
It’s already March
Still waiting for the success story
Everything been tough
Everywhere is rough
Results turns insults
The blacks lacks alot
The government has left us hanging
Anger revolves around
Your daughter needs aids
It’s not our daughters getting AIDS
Boys takes their prides in exchange for papers
They lost their fortunes all to lust
The sun race grace the son to hustle less
No matter our mistakes pardon us and bless
We appreciate your efforts and seek more efforts
Our past stories shouldn’t hurt the present and future
Written by #CyanahPEN & #Mr Rays
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