Midnight Musings

Upon my lofty bed of concrete I lay,
Starring back at the darkness above my head,
Admonishing the slightly blowing breeze,
Spying the half drawn willow drapes.

I feel the pain to the roots of my dreads,
The tears slightly thugging at the corners of my eye,
The smile slowly fading from my mind,
And Yanni’s nightingale playing me to peace.

The reminders of what could have been,
Tales of how it would have felt,
Disappointment at the thought of it,
Freedom from a future unkown.

Those drizzles upon the flat sheet,
Are the answers to my bellowing soul,
The pair far gone from one another,
A silence that never brought calm.

Times past and age creeps,
The unwelcome visitor to a heart set on adventure,
So little time and not even there yet,
I sigh, twist and fret, but tarry I will.

When they are forth and the sky is lit,
The smiles returned and the wind bleats,
I will once more dance and soar,
After which all would have been said and done.

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Orisa Bi Iya

Yes it is a none fact that they could be stubborn, rude, nagging, provoking and what have you, yet! They are the vessel by which we multiply and fill the earth, YES! I’m talking about women.

Some few weeks ago I was privileged or otherwise unfortunate to have been present at a child bearing and trust me it was worse than a rollercoaster ride. I stood on the opposite of the delivery room watching through the transparent glass. Each time a wave of contraction hit her I cringed and I tried to pierce the looking glass with my chipped nails.

Probably I’m not giving a very good description of this. She was pretty well… That’s if you could see past the pain in her eyes, her furrowed brow, tear stained face and matted hair. She had a few drops of blood upon her lips from obviously biting on it, her ears all turned red from the strain of pushing, her hospital gown lifted in sheer abandon from all that tossing around. I could see her tonsils clearly with each scream that passed out of her mouth and you get to wonder if you did want to go through the same. Surrounding her were the doctors with the fake encouraging smiles and oozing out soothing comments that were obviously not even being heard.

Then it occurs to me that this same woman who is birthing in pain still faces the brutal markings of her husband, still tries to put the home in order, makes sure the meal is served, attend to the children, is belittled if the children do not fare well at their academics, still manages to go to work, prays for the entire family and does most of the crying. Its such a burden and yet carry a child for nine months while going through all sorts of hormonal and physical changes and the man still does not think all these are enough reasons to restrain himself from hurting the woman he claims to love.

Yet behind every successful man they say is a woman, always taking the back seat while her husband stands as a beacon to the world. She cowers at home waiting to be trampled upon and abused emotionally for not attending even to the slightest of details. They do forget that this punching bag of theirs actually represents their own mothers.

So back to the room and the writhing woman, hours have gone by and brows are being cooled, little by little after so much coaxing the miracle unravels itself and tenderly the pinkish dome shows its crown and she is encouraged to push further. “Unto us a child is born” and indeed it is so, the baby with a yelp gives its first sign of life by crying out loud and is cleaned and wrapped in soft clouds of clothing, I smile for through God this woman has created life.

I look up to see the mother and to my utmost surprise, she grins like a cheshire cat forgetting that just moments ago she was having a near death experience. I just might consider going through it afterall

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