Poetry, style

Who Needs the Blues…

…when you have Valentine’s reds!

February is supposedly the month of love thus, in the lead up to Valentine’s Day, people either get worked up trying to make plans or about not having any! *queue melancholic violin music*

I listen to heated conversations and read impassioned arguments on social media and blogs arguing for and against the global celebration of love on a specified day. I personally, live and let live.

I’m not overwhelmed by the prospect of Valentine’s Day because I prefer to show and tell the people I love, just how important they are to me sporadically throughout the year. But then that’s just me.

Given that I had no ‘special plans’ on the 14th, and being the sort of woman who likes to make things happen as opposed to sitting around waiting, a fellow dateless but oh so fabulous friend and I decided to have dinner at The Dorchester. It was lovely and we had a really fun night talking and laughing about the world at large, future plans, plus aunties, uncles, friends, other family and foe constantly enquiring as to when we will marry or use our uterus’ as though it were a decision we alone can make!

It would have been awesome if we had a professional photographer (namely Ahua Photography) following us around that night because quite frankly, my friend looked as stunning as our surroundings – if not moreso. But we’re not celebrities and I enjoy living in moments rather than constantly photographing them in order to prove that my life is like-worthy (it really isn’t that serious).

So below is a little something I wore last week, sprinkled with a dash of love that I hope you enjoy – I’m really trying to get better acquainted with casual clothing! This posts poem is something I wrote about someone I hoped I would one day marry. But life and love don’t always work out the way you want them to now do they?













60 years from now when the
slightly scuffed suitcase you will call
skin houses more than big bones
and blood ties you cannot unknot,
kaleidoscopic heritage you cannot forget
but memories, dreams and wishes too,
the quiet shuffle of your body will
still bring music to my ears as
we cut shapes in the space where
our babies cut shapes and grew.

Our children will be beautiful.
They will epitomise their names,
carry hope in their palms, love
will know them intimately.
Garri granules of light will be
the trail our son leaves behind when
he flashes his explosive smile.
Like her mother, our daughter
will be a quiet storm, salt water and
life source searching for her lighthouse home.

In years to come, you will tell
me stories that no longer belong to us,
of fear that did not belong to us,
sing songs that never belonged to us,
our struggle does not belong to us.
Only our faith, unsinkable ship afloat
in a sea of fables and failure
belongs to us.
And I, cyclonic force stilled by your love,
will forever belong to you.

©Assumpta Ozua 2014

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