Who Am I?

CONTENTS

356891112141516171820

PrefaceAt The End of it ALl - ANGIE Nwokedi

How Can i explain the blood - CATHERINE SARPONGIdentity - Edidiong udoh

I am - francis xavier labiranMemoirs of a point five- Kimberley Kasirowore

I am champion - Mary AkinsulireI am a virgo man- Musa Jebak

two worlds - ossieforeigner - Quaam Animashaun

Moonlight - Rae Twumasihow to be a man - Seyi Ezekiel the poet

And you are - Truth poetic

Preface

Who am I ?

A question that each person has or will ask themselves at a point in theiR life. An innate primal craving that we all yearn to satisfy. Some people define

themselves through the eyes of others or as they would like to be seen.Very few people have seen their true reflection and even less have the

‘stomach’ to accept it. Society is at a very rebellious stage and everyone seems to want to disassociate themselves from the social norm, everyone

trying hard to exhaust the possibilities of change.

This book was thought up after the well received ‘My Love anthology’ and has evolved to a state which has put different personalities and people to

the test, examining the in depth nature of the human mind which will hopefully make connections with the readers or at the very least

stir up thoughts on each persons existence. Some names you will recognise from the first book, such as Rachel Twumasi, Angie Nwokedi and Francis Xavier Labiran. Most of the other poets are new to Wordjar, enabling us to provide readers with the range that they require. New names include; Edidiong Udoh, Ossie, Kimberley, Musa, Quaam, Mary, Catherine Sarpong and

Truth Poetic.

This impressive bunch of writers have contributed an inspiring array of work and on behalf of Wordjar and its founder Francis Labiran, I would

like to thank you for your hard workpatience and cooperation.

Angie Nwokedi

Editor (Wordjar)

WHO AM I?

At The End Of It All.

Taking a break from my own pompous, egotistical view on the reflection of my being and theintensified glare of my soul.Breaching the gap between the lies whispered in my mind and the truth in reality,I am asked who I amAnd all that seems to erupt from memoryIs;I am the daughter of my mother, the sister to my siblings and my father’s spawn.Leached from the crooked corner of an incandescent thought and the simplest form of love,I have grown to become a stranger’s friend, my best friend’s lover and my enemy’s dueller.Thinking through the eclipse of my childhood is a hazy affairLifting me into the dawn of adulthood,Realising I am dancing around the question asked,Tracing circles across a square cut page,I say with certaintyI am who you make me.Enemy or friend, kind or self-centred, loving or needy, it is who you say I am, I will befor you. As for who I am to me, I will refer you to all those who I have loved and to thatlimestone slab at the end of my tether. Here lies a sister, a friend. She was loved.

by ANGIE NWOKEDI

5

How Can I Explain The Blood?(A Vision...)A red liquid like substance falls into a well

Well. Looking more like a clear basin, still.

The effect of this Blood falling into the basin-

The effect of-

The effect of this Blood-

Excuse me.

How Can I Explain The Blood?

MY HEART PLEADS FOR AN UNDERSTANDING OF SUCHStrength and potency in a liquid substance.Or is it a substance? Have you portrayed it this way for my minisculemind to develop and attainAn understanding about how the Lamb was slainAnd in that, refrainFrom calling Him a manAnd just GOD?

IS IT TRUEThat my mind can’t get aroundThe fact that a man can leave a red coloured hueOn the ground of the EarthAnd that whoever walks upon the EarthCan and will be turned around?Can my mind not get around that turn aroundThat You brought around?Bought with Your BloodTo be Brought into Your House.

Literally, four minutes pass as I think of what to Write. What to sayto make this poem ‘real’ and sound ‘appealing’ somewhat. But mostimportantly...

To have it make sense.

How Can I Explain The Blood?

I COULDN’THaving You demonstrate the cause and effect(washing and cleansing me of all my defects)Explains all.Changing my status from ‘reject’To Priestess.

That you can look at my faceAnd be impressedI... Will be forever thankfulThis, I cannot stress

Enough.

AND IN THAT RESOLVE, FROM MY OLD WAYS TO NEWI see that all my changes, in YouAre drenched and depicted onlyIn that red coloured hue.

The Blood that falls into the wellHands forming and reaching to touch every crevice the well has tooffer.Nothing going unsearched.This is GraceComing to leave me blameless.This is Love that I’m feelingHands entering only by invitationCleaning and replenishingStaining briefly just to eradicate every blemishAfraid of swimmingStrainingTo keep my head above the sea of graceThat fills my well.

Well.

To be Saved, I must drown?

Well.

How Can I Explain The Blood?

The explanation resides in my resolve.And in His Blood.For no Words can speak better than itself.

Amen.

by CATHERINE SARPONG

7

IDENTITY

I,The one word around which my every being revolvesUnique in every sense of the wordI stand out from everyone elseI need not hide, nayI stand tall and flaunt my title as a peacock would its feathersLeaving my essence on the runway of life as I breeze throughWith my name shall I imprint my identity into the timelines of history.That when my journey through this world is doneIt shall not have been in vainBut that my name live on in the hearts of those present and to comeI am outstandingMy name is my identityI am my nameI am my identityI will not be suppressed

by EDIDIONG UDOH

8

I Am

I am

The soul of a slave turned king in the slumsHeart beat speaking like a talk-ing drumLife riddled by questions of where im from

I am

A militant wordsmithWith a warrior state of mindI stab my pen into the heart of my readersLet the ink plant a metaphor that grows to define them

I’m violent

As a chorus of violin stringsBeing sawed at by their musical mastersAs vocal as your spiritual pastorI preach egotistical verses of fortune based dreamsWhere I transform my woman from my wife to my queenIn her womb plant a seed that grows to bare a fruit full tree.

I mean

This superman complex will be the death of meIm ignoring pain, living vainSquatting when the world is on my shouldersAnd bench pressing the stress off my chestDressed in the boastful robes of my royal prideMy mocha melanin shows signs of dilutionDistorted accent proof of my tri-nationalityReclusive eyes stemming from tribulations

However none of this explainsHow i manage to holdThe sun to my coreManipulating worlds to orbit me

And i speak so profoundlyBecause the palms of my parents,Tips of their canes,Sharp words of enemiesAnd the fists of my oppressorsHave moulded this characterFrom the swag in my stepTo the double bunny eared shaped laces in my crepsStyled out inAn anglo AmericanMish mash ofOld school hip hopPrep boy cardigans

Matte black fittedsBlue harbour jeans,And the suchAnd i know that ain’t saying muchBut ive never been one to use excuses as a crutchI sing my own praisesAnd swallow my failures

I am

Standing hereOn a patch of gaia i have made my ownI lay before youMy fortune of goldMy sun spinning coreAnd kryptonian ego

Judge me as you wish

Because I am

by FRANCIS XAVIER LABIRAN

10

Memoirs of a point five

I am Zimbabwean.And there is nothing you can say that’ll take that away,Coz it’s flows through my blood and its air in my lungs.When I think, I think with multiple tongues.Switching constantly from Shona to Englishto Shonglish and hear this,I know what every colour in the flag representsAnd in the eventyou no longer have one,I can trance you one with my index fingerin fresh dust, from old memory.

I am Zimbabweanand refuse to conformto whatever you figure, considerlooks to be the Zim Norm.I am ZimbabweanAnd also part English,Hence why my skin’s slightly lighterAnd I think nothing odd about this.I’ll accept ‘coloured’ ZimbabweanNot Point 5 or half caste,mongrel or mixed breed,or whatever derogatory funny term you would like to coin to term me.

I’m not going to proveThat I can verse my other tongue,Or tell you which part of ZimMy father’s father’s from.I am Zimbabwean because of theTraditions I choose to heed.The culture that I’ll continue to feed onDespite being belonging to the Zim diasporra

I’ve said it, I’ve written, and with reason I pleadThat if you’ve failed to comprehend it youGlance up and re-read.

I am Zimbabwean Take it or Leave it.

I am Zimbabwean because I’ve said it, believe it.

by KIMBERLEY KASIROWORE

11

I am champion.

How do you admit to an identity crisis?I feel like I’m at the back of the classBehind SpidermanBarbieAnd Super MarioBut I know not to ask for assistanceFrom the teacherBecause if I put my hand up what if they don’t see it?No identity leads to having no formTherefore I am nothing.And I don’t want to be that.So then the question in this exam paper of my lifeThat I’m currently studying for is“Who am I?”No marks rewarded for writing your nameBecause your parents chose that for you.And my two different passports are hardly sources I can use eitherThat’s like...a complete waste of revision.I am not my hairAnd I am not my skinAnd so writing myself off as a “dark skin beauty” hardly fills in the blankThat is still staring me in the face.Running for the bleach cream eitherWill not exactly gain me the marksEspecially when one day it’s just going to rot into the dust we walk on.And most importantly I am not your expectations.From looking at my face intertwined with stereotypesA bar of expectations have been set for me;I have chosen not to reach itI will surpass itSo maybe I am a rebel.Am I given a mark for that? Two?Instead of finding yourself the teacher said create yourselfBut I worship a God who has created me with His own box of CrayolasAnd I don’t think I know my own identity as well as He doesSo I seek Him to find the creation of myselfI seek Him until I am soaked in HimAnd there is less of me and more of HimI will let His light shine in me and radiate through the whole globeAnd then I can stand tall protruding the colours of the rainbowUp to the point where I can no longer define myself as “black”And my neighbour as “white”And the stereotypes created by the worldFail to exist in meBecause as John 15:18-19 saysI am an outcastAnd I do not belong to this world.

How many marks have I gathered for this question now?Because you see at the end of the dayI want to collect my crown knowing that I passed the exam

With a percentage close to 100%.I do realise that I am human and I am bound to fallWhether it’s me biting out of the forbidden fruit more than twiceAfter spitting it outOr me convincing a fellow friend to climb and eat the fruit themselvesBut...but what if I don’t make it?What if the test paper comes back and I realise I’ve failedNext to my identity will be the word “failure” right?I am not a failure.God don’t let me be.Because if my name doesn’t end up in the book of lifeIt means I never really existed;Allowing myself to burn in a lake of fire and evaporate into nothingAnd then where is my identity?What identity do I then have?So that’s why I tell myself continually as I do this testOptimisticallyThat I am a queen.A champion.A successful entrepreneurI am that girl you see out there with a story behind herLike that of a fairytale rather than a cliff-hangerI am that girl you see who stands tall with their head held highWith angels gathered around herI am the one you call blessedBut most importantly...I’m that girl who chose not to follow the teacher’s script.The world’s script.Written off to become one of those statisticsI was part of that percentage who weren’t supposed to pass the testBut when you serve a God of miraclesThings turn around for the greater goodSo if my identity passes the test in flying coloursDon’t be surprised yeah?I cling to the winning identity – I am a child of God.

by MARY AKINSULIRE

13

i am a virgo man

I am a virgo man.You can spot me from a mile away im almost lonerish with my independance on my shoulder.Man i can do it all by myself, I do not need nobody else!And if it all becomes too much i can get through it all without you lending your hand to help.Call me selfish because i know sometimes it may seem that way.But really im just doing me and i swear my intentions were good when i started out today just like they were yesterday.

I am the virgo man.I will shoot you down point blank.Please dont ask me a question if you dont want the answer to be frank.I didnt mean to hurt your feelings or to be rude.But im not a very good liar and thats an honest truth.Please dont beat round the bush with me, be straightforward and dont be blunt i want to feel your point.

The virgo man.Perfection is my aim in every aspect of life.So after i have taken all this time tweeking and twisting how dare you critisize!Yes i have my flaws i know because they are mine.And i know that perfect isnt always practical and cannot be reached all the time.But i just seem to lose interest in things that are not up to scratch or dont give me no pride.

I am THE Virgo man, yes this is true.

by MUSA JEBAK

14

Two Worlds

Dozing off, in Space & TimeI escape to the world in this mind of mine.So much is happening, but it doesn’t really make senseAnd I get lost in this world – lost to the inside – and reality…Then, I’m snapped right out. I’m tense.My breath is heavy. Eyes, still. Completely motionlessWhere I ‘disappear’ to remains unknown. It’s complicated to explain.My imagination loves to take over again and again.

This world within me… From past to future.It’s quite cool with all the nice creatures,Human and non-human filling up the spaceA nice aura comes from my skyI ask, “Why?”“Why let greatness here pass reality by?” –To myself.I look back out from my atmosphere to here… Greatness shines by itselfPeople. Nature. Opportunities. Now, there’s nothing I want to hide.

Am I just an empty vessel?Or am I full of ideas?I’m not sure… I should probably wake up instead -But I fear to get out of my world.As time goes on, I realiseBoth worlds, mine & reality, come through my eyes.Truthfully, they make me what I became.Reality mixed with dreams makes a real focus, you see.I shouldn’t think too much. I might get lost forever,But I’ll make my dreams the reality. I’ll shine right through.I’m thankful I got this new step – What I thought I’d never turn toThe dreamer. The stronger believer. The History Maker.

by OSSIE

15

Foreigner

ForeignerThe synonym for intruder, outsider or a refugeeIn the “mother”- landThis is my identity

Could you introduce me to the man who invented black?Or hand me a dictionaryAnd a manual on how to actBecause they deem if I listen to a little more Oasis than Lil WaynePrefer the Queen’s English instead of slangDress as if I was Carlton BanksThen I am nothing more than a “black oyinbo man”This is my identity

Quaam AnimashaunJust a name on a plastic cardBut can you attain my personality from this?Know my life storyOr who I truly amI question your answerAs you say you canthis is my identity

To someI am nothing more than what their eyes seeThey attach their pre-conceptions

In order to describe me

But how can they tell who I amWhen my soul still seeksThe answers withinAnd I refuse to be confinedBy all of your stereotypes

My identity consistsOf being more than a black manUltimately there are one thousand and one layers to who I amThis is my identity

by QUAAM ANIMASHAUN

16

MOONLIGHT

I’d like to always shine. To be moonlight all the time, but too often I will clouds to block ‘my’ light.It feels safer.And perhaps too many times I’ve let a new moon hide, as the world cuts between the Son and I.I can’t stay here...

Every new moon has me questioning my identity. Every full moon has me learning, saying,“Oh! That’s me.”

Learning that though my essence can’t be squashed into a description box, I’ll still try.Still wonder how A, B, C and D all reflect me.Still troubled by the lack of continuity.Ponder on this. Still. Till I wander under the moonlight...

The full moon has me questioning my identity. Looming sunrise has me learning, finding,“Oh, That’s...me.”

Learning that though I’m on a path He guides, I’m prone to fall into holes.And I’m not special in this.Learning to feel off centre is my norm if He’s not at the centre.Reflect on this. Fight myself as I wonder at the Son’s light...In it I’m all I need to be. By it I’m learning, shaping me.

If I could always shine, just be moonlight all the time, then I wouldn’t allow clouds to waste my time.Simple vapour.Maybe this time I’ll try, to let my moonlight shine and show the Sonlight isn’t ‘far too bright.’It’s our saviour.

by RACHAEL TWUMASI

17

How to be a man

I grew up in a time where masculinity was weighed in a way where the more sex you had, the closeryou were to becoming a man

Where violence was emphasised as a pivotal aspect of life, sepa-rating the weak from the strong

Where it was considered heroic to be in possession of a strap or a condom

Where video games replaced education and our expectations centered around the release of thenext FIFA or NBA street

Where smoking was classified as a recreational hobby that all real men should copy

Where the life of fellow man was not respected or understood, where it was glamorised to be asocial reject residing in the hood

I grew up in a time where sensitivity in a man was taboo, where to love was far from applauded butbooed

Where cruelty and coldness typified the stereotypically acceptable man, where the process of socialisation instructed boys that weap-ons were his favourite toys and emotional connection shouldremain void

Where laughter or repetitious displays of happiness were scorned, where a cloak of bravery mustconsistently be worn

Where the boundaries between fact and fiction were forcibly blurred, where marriage wasperceived as a prison sentence every man must desert

Where thoughtfulness was deterred, where the failure to ob-jectify women was absurd

I grew up in a time where my upbringing failed to correlate with what was expected of me, as a man

I do not fit the mould

I was raised to respect women instead of salivate over them as if they were pieces of meat,

I was raised to not see my emotions as a hindrance but as a sign of humanity

I couldn’t begin to understand how every man behaves in such barbaric ways and feels its okay

Chained to outlines laid down by a society where manliness visits ideals that drum into him

that ‘Pussy, Money, Weed’ should be his only goals and anything that jeopardises that should bekilled

Failing to acknowledge that masculinity is what you make it, because so many men are so far upsociety’s bum crack unable to understand that obedience to ignorance only breeds mass stupidity

There are so many ways to be a man, some acceptable, some far from tolerable

But the only man to be is a man that is true to yourself

by SEYI EZEKIEL THE POET

19

And you are...?

what’s your name? I askare you the one I have been waiting on?days I have longed and searched for he who was spoken ofto see for myself who you really weremaybe I have been too eager in awaiting youmaybe I have been as one without purpose but to waiting upon what I do not even knowhave I expected too much of you?have I even expected at all?will you be all I thought u were?or will you redefine my expectation?only if your name had been revealed I would have known umaybe if your face had been uncovered to my mind I would have comprehended

will you be the right person for me to learn from?will you teach me that which I need from you?am I asking too many questions?can I expect you to answer me any of them?

I hunger to know youI long to delve into your very essenceto understand your compositionto map your originwill I be able to touch you when u appear?will u even be real?

I want to know you in ways I have never known anyoneto see your soul and feel your aurayet still I do not know who u areI do not even know why I desire to know you

there you are,but,. But,... I know youI see you everydayI hear your voice in my head and in my consciousnessyou are more familiar to me than anyone elseyou are the only person I have known since birthyet I still don not know youI do not understand youI cannot grasp your mindsetI have not known your thoughts

you are me and I am youyet your name I do not know

your life I have seen yet do not envyyour existence I feel yet do not desireyour emotion I feelyour emotion I loaththe pain too deep to comprehendthe tears to deep to swim throughyour life too dark to see thoughyou are me yet your name I till do not know

to know me more than methat is what I could not do....

by TRUTH POETIC

21

Published in 2011 by Wordjar Publishing

No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written

permission from the publisher except for the case of brief quotations embodied in critical

articles or reviews

[email protected]

Wordjar Publishing. London

Edited by: Angie Nwokedi (Wordjar Publishing)

Illustrated and designed by: Kelvin Akposoe (Wordjar publishing)

Designed by Kelvin Akposoe

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