Pulse Poems

HOW does the eyes tell the truth? Without lips and a tongue caged in a dentition; without any connection to the lungs and larynx; just pigments of white and black or brown or blue. Somehow it takes just pupils and retina to display the madness locked up deep down the human heart. All she need do is keep a steady gaze into my eyes and my soul becomes bare before hers, and the unspoken becomes obvious. That’s the outcome of a look from the one who loves you…; well, now for me, the same one who hurt me. So today I'm wearing shades, and no careful x-ray-type gaze can penetrate the barricade of this facade. Imagine my reflection in her eyes when she beholds these two brown balls on my face. God! I don’t want to know but the mirror already says it all. They look worn out from being squeezed until every drop of silly salty tear was gone. Yet, still heavy with grief, my eyelids, tired of squeezing, just slid lazily into a deep slumber. Still, in the realm of imagination and the la

It happens in a flash but the memories replay in slow motion. Haunting memories, the kind you wish never occurred. Trying to teleport to a minute or two before the incident, you’re left exploring every possible outcome, if you had just done things a little different. In the end, it halts and hurts even more to realize that unwinding the damage is just wishful thinking. Yet, let me embark on this journey for a minute. In the world of my imagination, rewind to the day before. Just one day more. On a date at the park, seated on the tenderness of a manicured lawn, In the scenery of the sunset, I fought back the awkwardness and fear of expressing my emotions, and my lips uttered how much she meant to me. It declared my love on a thousand hills, told her she was more pleasant that daffodils and her smile made the whole world freeze for a minute. I put my arm on her shoulders, lovely together like two sweet swans in a sea of endless romance, as I waved a taxi to a halt; reminded he

THEY'D say he's just confused, but doesn't that go for the rest of us? Only focus lies in losing focus. He calls it a distraction. Like innocently heading out one evening, hoping to get refreshed by the dusky breeze and view of the city. Hmm... Part of the latter wasn’t the contour of the chick calling on the sidewalk. Noisy but his rapt attention clings to the clinging of her cleavage... Oh snap. He claims to see women as radiant as the sun and would never reduce ‘em to sex toys. Yet, alone in the bathroom, he’s left palm creamed, butt naked, with a sextape reflecting on his pupils. A Good man, but trapped in a bad habit, it becomes hard to see the best in yourself. You'd say he's just confused, but doesn't that go for the rest of us? Not relenting even in relenting. He'd say it didn't just work out. Like rocking the crazy melodies in his head called ideas; dancing to the beat of a drum only he could hear, no better definition of lunacy bes

*to Christopher Sonia Ogenekome for make beauty as effortless as breathing.* HELP me say hello to the lady in yellow. I swear with everything hallowed, only an angel can glow with such halo. The heads in the room stand at attention as you walk in, each saluting as they behold the brilliance of the sun as the fairness of you face blends with the fabric on your skin. The fragrance of roses in bloom saturates the atmosphere as though spring has sprung up in the heat of fall. Goosebumps all over as I stand awe-struck by the lightening of your elegance. Your heels hitting the floor echoes a rhythm that makes the choir in me want to sing for joy. Funny, this divine vision, a gleams of heaven, all coming to me in church; just can’t help but testify. I wish to say hello to the lady in yellow. I swear with everything hallowed, only an angel can glow with such halo. I still want to steal another look. The crimes these stares perpetrate can’t be brought to book, because they're

I came up from nothing, the metaphor isn’t lofty yet let me break it down to the tiniest piece: That's watching pops pop out of character, masking the wrinkles of worries on his forehead with a forced smile that should inspire hope but dashes any I have in getting my demands met. Demands crucial to children he termed whims. See, that's a hike with every trip in and out of school; sunshine frying my skin on a skillet and squeezing out any delight in hiking; singlet wetter than a pool. Soon, my once light brown complexion became swart. Listen, that's life in a thriller: soundtracks composed of pops’ yelling, brewed from the belly of want; mom's whispering murmur, always wishing for more; and storms from the raging sea of little pocket neighbours and an impatient landlord. Look, that's being placed on a diet loaded with crap: insults,  ridicules, bullying from the well-to-dos, bland meals from want of choice filled with bones of disappointment and starvation

It’s hard to look into your eyes, not because I’m shy but for the flashbacks they replay; retake and teleport me to a sad past quite unforgettable. Let’s roll it away, play the “throw a blind eye” game with smiles and courteous gestures. But the bitterness lingers on my tongue, gulping harsh words left unspoken, cover-ups with nice questions like “how’re you doing?” My lungs about to burst as I sniff constantly, fighting back tears, but before was left breathless by your beauty so appealing and addictive. Now, the growling of a treacherous beast resound aloud with your heartbeat, only a fool would claim not to have noticed. The temperature around you keeps dropping, explains why I’m frigid and heartbroken. Yet you act like it’s nothing, like it isn’t suicidal hanging around your climate. I’m not nervous, I’m freezing with your love turned hate and the frustration that remains. Even with the warm embraces, my brain can’t fore-go  the cold shoulders you gave. I yell at my eyes