pausing my writing/editing to admire the raw talent of ifyxpressions. Glory!
pausing my writing/editing to admire the raw talent of ifyxpressions. Glory!
flamesunfurl: your words are stunning! raw, yet refined. soft, yet striking. thank you for sharing. xx
The poet writes this for me. There is a certain softness to your kind words, i always want to say some words dance, some smile, some weaken the soul, some carry us home. Yours is soft & beautiful. Like full moon in Owerri soft, listening to evening stories kind of softness. Love, thank you.
with light
Ijeoma
mashallah-muslimah: Hi I just started following you on here and luv your words. I am "African" American but in more recent history have found out that my ancestors were stolen from Nigeria Benin and were Igbo as well as from Mali and Barbados etc. ( a bunch of boat stops smh) If I read one of your post correctly you are Igbo and I'd love to learn more about your/my stolen culture as well.
Love, i hope this meets you well. Please check out the list of books below i just posted. I hope it helps. Your lineage still lives in you, that you are living, that your ancestors survived through it all, that through it all you are here finding a way to them is powerful. Home will remember you, home will welcome you, you do not need to know how to speak in her tongue but how can home forget her offspring? West Africa lives in you, from Benin kingdom to Ashanti kingdom to powerful ancient knowledge of Timbuktu. You with blood from such powerful places. Whenever you want, visit home.
with light upon light
Ijeoma Umebinyuo
Thanks to justkeepdoing for letting me share this list publicly. She asked me to list a couple of books that will help with learning Nigerian history.
Book 1: A History of Nigeria by Toyin Falola and Matthew Heaton. Cambridge Press, 2008. Covers history from 1500 AD.
Book 2: Nigerian…
mashallah-muslimah, this is the list. I will also add “There was a Country" which was the last book written by Chinua Achebe before his death.
Receiving emails and messages from young women telling me how much my words touched them so much they are using a part of my writing for something academic is so powerful. I will describe it as powerful and humbling. Somehow, my words found a way to your class, to your dream schools or even to your school paper makes my heart melt. I sit back and watch my heart breaking into love. Gratitude is an understatement, something more than gratefulness, powerful needs other siblings, humbling needs another description. Thank you.
Light upon light,
Ijeoma Umebinyuo
My sweetheart, I love this! ugochitvI forgave & set thee free,
But I was the prisoner,
It was me…
someone stole the baby
from the mad woman
she calls herself
“Ifesinachukwu”
every trader in Idumota
knows hersomeone stole the baby
from the mad woman
who speaks three languages
they say her madness
was caused by her best friend
who married Ifesinachukwu’s husbandbut
someone stole the baby
from the mad woman
she wails all day
as she rolls on the floor
right there in Idumota
under the Lagos heat.
manufacturednaturalist: Never have I become so quickly enthralled in a poet. Your writing speaks to me and brings me the comfort of seeing my emotions reflected in a shade that matches my own. Thank you. :)
You are kind with words. Thank you. :)
why do you keep
carrying your body
like it is some crime scene
why do you insist on
burning yourself
into emptiness.
but darling,
you know I am a poet.
As imperfect as Nigeria is, she birth me, she nursed me, she took care of me and even when her scars cut the throat of her children, she will always bury her offsprings with love.
the first time
someone called you
ugly,
you were in
primary fouryou ran home,
asking your mother
why your skin
bleeds
black
you
watched your mother
quietly
soap your soul with
diluted love
and
liquified pain
she kept scrubbing your soulwashing you in love
speaking of your light
she kept scrubbing
speaking of your smile
she kept scrubbing
speaking of your gorgeousness
slowly,
you began to smile
first,
a giggle,
then,
a full belly laughter
‘there. that’s my beautiful child’
she whispered.
They want Africans to only write about anything but love, it seems writing about war or poverty seems to be the only way to validate my African identity as a writer. They say Africans cannot write love poems, so i write bold love poems with African names. Let them read that! Ka ha rie nshi!
First, forgive yourself.
he speaks yoruba
the way it falls out of his mouth
even makes his lies taste like sugar
he winks at me,
his full moon smile,
his beautiful Lagos skin
i call him Ayo, my happiness
he draws me closer
i forget all his transgressions.