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By
Vincent de Paul
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Lost Love
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No More Love
“I hope I don’t see you again,” I told her that plain. She wanted me to stay Yet I walked away Never looked back, Not her way anyway, Did not want to see the pain I knew was in her eyes. It was done Just like that, She keeps me on the loop Still sends those messages That she still loves me I wish I could change everything To another time! I lack the words What do I tell her then? My heart’s forgotten to love She can’t understand more Than that she does love me, I don’t want to lie to her, Pretend I know love anymore I just lost the feeling Not for her Not for anyone Dunno know what I gonna do for her.
Intimate Partner Violence (Retribution)
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In a world where patriarchate is heritage nothing has been left to chance about the male dominance – man is the head, and woman the neck. Nevertheless, the recent attacks on men from a particular place in Kenya (classified stuff) by their women have raised alarm on the God-given place of man. There seems to be a silent revolution that would end the age-old reign of man. Women are infiltrating, conquering and dominating where man has boasted the sole leadership and command since time immemorial, and are doing better. Why this sudden upheaval? The woman is empowered to the hilt, and the male species is losing it. Gone are the days when alcohol-acquired-machismo was revered by the ladies and thence the sisters (who’ve been in distress for eons) have taken the reins – from bedroom to work place. It is no longer the duty of wives to wash their husband’s feet when he arrives from a journey; the washing machine does the laundry and, poo
Cracked Hearts
The last time I saw Maimun words poured out of me like water squeezed from a sponge. She covered my mouth with hers as if to swallow a terrible curse that would come back to afflict us. “Forget us, forget me,” she said. Upon us was the moment of partying— my heart cracked. “I will come for you, my moon,” I said. “I will get you away from your Imam father Even Allah.” “Goodbye, my love I cannot help you with my love. Forget, my love I love you more than life itself.” She shimmered away— And I was alone.
Underneath Your Dirac and Shash
http://www.shumis.net/ I don’t see much of your body Only soles of your feet below your gorgorad, your hands and your beautiful hijab’d-face I steal glances at you when the garbasaar slips as you work and I glimpse creamy arms yet you deny me the privilege of seeing: you cover yourself hastily. Underneath your dirac is the body I dream of that’s where my thoughts hide underneath your guntiino is the territory I want to conquer. Underneath your shash is the silky hair that you forever hide that’s where I want to run my fingers through and tell you an endless story but you’re tied to your manners required of you by religion another man owns the place. Underneath your dirac wherein my thoughts lie I want to unravel the mystery of your body would you let me if my God were called by the name of your God—Allah? [1] Gorgorad – the underskirt worn by Somali women [2] Garbasaar – the shawl Somali women cover their upper body with
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