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Poems of Woman Scream 2015 Nigeria

Poems of Woman Scream 2015 Nigeria, coordinated by Temi Bamgbose 

Stephen Uche Onyegbula

I will beat my wife

I will beat my wife,
She has finished my life.
Always bringing constant strife,
Our union can no longer strive.
I will beat my wife.
I will redesign her face,
there my hand will take solace;
when her face is out of shape,
maybe more like mother ape.
But therein is my fantasy,
am all smiles with a glance.
Where will I beat my wife?
Should I slap her breast?
With my pain, she'll stand abreast,
a punch will send her yonder,
with the rage of my bitter hunger.
But it’s the food for father and child, softest part, milk of life.
Where will I beat my wife?
Should I boil her belly with a punch?
Giving her a taste of this fire with each launch?
But there is my children’s earliest home,
there is where I rest my head at home.
Where will I beat my wife?
Should I lash her back and buttocks?
making her as uncomfortable as her talks.
But where will my kids be straddled?
Where will hands stroke in times like that?
Where will I beat my wife?
I will beat her hands and legs,
bruising them even if she cries.
But which hands cook the meals?
Which legs will support the pregnancy?
Where will I beat wife?
I will wash her with bitter words,
pulling down her wall with words.
What if the neighbors call her names?
Who will rise in her defense?
How do I beat my wife?
Tell me, you men girded with strength,
tell me, you men of the vipers tongue,
tell me you noble disciplinarian,
where do I beat my wife?

The dead ones

We are the dead ones,
walking among the living.
We are the dead ones,
and these dead ones are faceless.
Nothing at all to be desired;
our faces must not be seen!
In brightest day or darkest night,
we must at all times be faceless.
We are the dead ones;
for our life is without a form,
we must have neither status nor form,
our lives must be bent how and when he wishes!
Whether we like it or not,
we must at all times be formless.
We are dead ones;
and our voices are dead too,
we neither speak nor are we heard,
our lot is to hear and not speak!
Not minding that which we want to say.
We must at all times be voiceless.
We are the dead ones,
for the dead do not work.
Our lot is the pot and the bed,
We have neither skill nor intellect!
Not even when we are in high demand,
we must at all times be jobless.
We are the dead ones;
for the dead ones are lifeless,
we have neither feelings nor emotions.
We are mere objects and dolls!
Not even when we give life to the living.
We must at all times be lifeless.
Who are these dead ones?
we are the women of Asia, Africa, North America, South America, Antarctica, Europe and Australia.
Killed by the ideology of masculine superiority,
we are the dead ones.
They dug our graves with the spade of religion;
They interned us in the coffin of tradition,
They buried us with their masculine bravado.
We are the dead ones.
Dig our graves beside sister Matthia;
place our coffin beside mother Theresa,
let us die in peace as did Angelou,
and when your days are spent and gone,
our names on every lips shall be,
and on every street under the sun,
we will sprout though dead and sing though caged,
and kings will bow to our cause!

For the dead will come alive. 



We broke our anchors
ditched in the depths
our ships set sail
wafts of sweet cuisine arouse our senses
home is where we are headed
or somewhere close
pray our compasses never fail us
forever is ours
our years will amount to nothing
we will keep no record of them
may they not be our stumbling block

Deji Adesoye Williams

All I ask is a moving lip

I wish you feel the pang of my anus
As your dear son put his head in 4th gear
My vulva!
It may tear into ribbons if it likes.

Just wish you feel the thudding of my cervix
Moments your phallic trusts his furry in my feeble feelings!
Nature did not confine me to this…

That I should rise after the night of sexual battering
And exhaust my talents all in the kettle and sauce pan
When I die, my tomb be blessed with the epitaph: “The
Mother of All Delicacies…”

I wish you know my shame and emptiness of being, like
An empty cylinder,
Squatting in the dark corner of your chamber
Like a laying bird in her nest, all my days, and die, and disappear
From disappearance of appearance,
Riveted to a point like the sphinx, and
Covered from head to toe, blue and mournful, like a new widow.

All I ask is a moving lip;
A talking tongue,
To add spices to the lyrics of life,
Like the talking drum.
In my veins are enzymes of hope and joy
I bear the genome of peace and happiness
Of boredom I am allergy, for in my bones nature
Compressed energy
Son of man, all I ask
Is a core place in the chamber of life.

Temi Bamgbose

To The Mother of My Unborn Daughter
Tedder hall, U.I Ibadan

My Love,

Many of my friends pray they should not have a daughter. They say they are afraid of raising them, that they are not as easy to manage as boys. I am not very afraid, I wish to have them boy and girl since I know I have you.

I am writing you this letter because of what I have seen for about half a decade, I have watched with keen interest the affairs of those lions in men’s skin who promise heaven and earth before a damsel but behind the poor angel, they plan her fall. My love, I have seen guys who invite their friends over so they could plan how to drug a girl with sleeping-pill laced milk and violate her in her forced slumber. A few times I have walked past rooms were I hear struggles of girls trying to escape from rooms they voluntarily entered thinking the occupants were friends just to find out that those they call their friends have skimmed wickedness behind them. I have heard of sexual harassment, exploitation, even rape: most of the time by people who are supposed to be friends of the victim. I have seen shamelessness in its rawest form; I have seen daughters of respectable mothers living two lives: one at home, another in school. But don’t get me wrong I have seen good ones too, in fact daughters of bad mothers turning out to be good themselves.

But I am afraid. How is our daughter going to turn out? I know we shall work together to mould her into a balanced young woman but I strongly believe the bulk of the work falls on your shoulder.

My lady, I know you know this but I wish to remind you that quality training of a child begins from your tummy. When you read books to her and talk to her while she is still in you. Please do not allow the mood swings that result from hormonal fluctuations during pregnancy affect the baby, at no time should you get angry with the unborn no matter what happens. Please do not believe as some people do that once our daughter comes, she would take your place in daddy’s heart no it won’t happen that way we’ll both love her and my love for you would even be doubled.

After feeling and watching her grow in you for nine months God be with you on the delivery day. I hope to be there too, to stand by you, give you a hand to hold and watch you bring her to life. Through the pain that accompanies the little joy do not utter any negative utterances… none at all but with your mind and mouth say prayers for our coming Eve. My mom told me that such prayers are the best gift you can give the baby at that particular time, she says it strengthens the bond between mother and child and that prayers at such moments get guaranteed answer. I agree with her, because your utterances at that moment would typify your predefined aspirations for our child.

One of my professors here emphasizes on the importance of good nutrition for a child during early life, he says it helps the child to develop well physically, mentally, and emotionally. I agree with him too. I want our daughter to become a well rounded woman and I know you want that too so let us make sure we breast feed her for a long time one year is not too much is it? I also read that the emotional attachments of young children to their parents remain a cornerstone of psychological well-being in early childhood but, that as young children develop their sense of self awareness and learn to negotiate, compromise, resist, and assert their own preferences, they are likely to come into conflict with their parents. Therefore our approach to discipline and to conflict resolution has important effects on the quality of the parent-child relationship and our girl’s personality growth. If we treat her with iron hand and subdue her with authority and physical punishment for every wrong she does, I’m afraid she’ll comply but she may end up growing up to be a frustrated angry lady who would only pretend to be good to avoid abuse.

My lady, I want you to promise me that you’d be our daughter’s closest friend and tell her about someone who can see us everywhere at every time. That you’d listen to her respectfully allowing her to share her own views so that you’d know for sure where she needs help and promptly provide such help. You would neither over estimate nor under estimate her knowledge about sex and sexuality. Promise me you’d tell her about her own body on time, that you’d leave the duty to neither her school teacher nor her peers as that would spell doom. Please explain to her before hand about the red days of the month, do not call her names or beat her at menarche saying she had been sleeping around when you know exactly what is going on. If you do this you’d only push her to do what she suffered for unjustly. I know you won’t like that.

You’d give her a measure of freedom won’t you? But you won’t over pamper her. We would encourage her to tell us about her friends and bring them home so we could know them too. Would you tell her that any guy who insists on keeping her outside in the cold to discuss mundane things may be funny, witty, cocky or whatever but is really not the best for her? They are but selfish rakes. That she should also beware of those who seem too good and would in fact offer to take her pooh pooh in there mouth. Tell her about David Deangelo and his impious books. Tell her that virginity is not a disease, that it is a priced pride. Let her read the story of Dinah.

Whatever happens never disgrace or embarrass her in public, never talk evil of me before our daughter’s eyes and never bother her with our own little troubles. Sure you’d teach her with your own good examples won’t you?

I hope we would follow the good examples our parents laid in training us and learn from their mistakes too. Our daughter would be a well rounded and balanced youth wont she. I cannot write everything in this epistle but I want you to have these fundamental things deep in your ticker well before our daughter comes. So that it can serve as a reminder, one that would constantly put in focus our need to strategize carefully.

Please keep this letter very well, give It to our daughter when she is eighteen tell her to pass it on and possibly add to it. Thank you my dear for being understanding. I love you


Temiloluwa O.

Mark-Ibekilo Ebebe Sunday

The Voice Of Silence

I dream of hope
I dream of ambition
I dream of nightmares of exploitation
A dream I doubt if I can cope

I am a freeborn
Born of equal human race
But treated like a football
Dispossessed with so much pace

Raised not to be competitor
But to have ambition, it's no harm
To be mildly successful
Lest we threaten a man

Everyday my rights are violated
Genitally mutilated
Literally spat on the face and humiliated
What a social injustice!
To control sexuality and autonomy
It's all short of this!
I beckon a new age of Sojourner Truth
To firmly stand and be my root

A novel Akunyili
To show there is a thin line
Between bravery and confidence
Famous, forgotten and diligence

I need education
An era of Mary Slessor
Ransom Kuti and Margaret Ekpo
Not to either depend on expo
Or behave like Esau

Freedom is religion for me
Against gender disparity
Like Harriet Tubman or Elizabeth Stanton
I'll always have a foundation to stand on

I am the mirror of the society
But this is a society
Filled with much fealty and piety
Where the birth of a male child is a celebration
And that of a girl child is received with mere shrug of resignation

I pondered
Tutoring and learning
A vital sector of my fatherland
I've become a purid marshland
A den for the unscrupulous

I must stand my ground
Ready to challenge male chauvinism
With equality, diligence and enthusiasm
Than being nailed to the background
The time is heavy with a child
Of a generation to become a pride
Never look back, we've a hundred miles
Victory is what we must finish with highs

None can win this race individually
But with the strength of effort
Elders and parents energy
We'll form a perfect synergy

If a nut is hard
There's something bound to crack it bad
And if it becomes hard for a stammerer
He'll pronounce his name, finally

But listen!
If we live as ordinary people
Extraordinary things will happen
Between me and you, against evil

Because every little baby
Has the power to be great a‎nd maybe
No ordinary mother
Would cry herself to sleep

If only you could just stop
Close your eyes and listen
You'll hear the voice of silence
And realize that it was me.

Diemijenyo Ejiro


A life for a wife
A wife for a life
Man needs one for the other
but never weary, no sequential order

A wife not a wife
else, a life and not a life
A life not a life
Else, no wife but a wife

A wife with a head, a homemaker
A wife with a heart full of love
A wife with both
A wife with none, bulldozer-mouthed
All are wives but wives and wives

A life of a pocket or of none
A life of just sustainance and of love
A life of boredom and regrets
All are lives
but lives and lives

live a life not a life
have a wife not a wife
Needed are the eagle's eyes
Needed is the snail's patient walk
Heaven's the best source to look
Respect and love a wife, and she will be a wife.

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Compilación virtual del Festival Grito de Mujer. Aquí podrás leer desde nuestra selección destacada, hasta algunos de los poemas presentados en el festival Grito de Mujer, aportados por hombres y mujeres solidarios, en homenaje a la mujer y contra la violencia. Este blog tiene el fin de dar las gracias a toda la gente que nos ha apoyado. Quienes siendo o no poetas, han sumado su grito. Podrás conseguir lo mejor de nuestra causa en nuestras antologías impresas.

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