Abasiama Udom

Abasiama Udom is a poet and writer with polymathic tendencies. 

The writer of Pose and Coloured Tales with her poetry scattered across magazines and journals.

She is constantly chasing new adventures but appreciates the constancy of food, music, books, family, sleep, and football in her life. She tweets @AneuPoet

May dawn never come

 If this was what night was meant to be,
 may dawn never come.
 With all its roaming evil 
 and constant ills
 May I blink and slumber in peace
 And may the dawn never come.
 They who pray for a new day, heaven disappoint
 may they wake to a still night
 silent, like that night in Bethlehem
 when Mary pushed and angels roamed.
 Did you know in that night
 thieves sat not stealing and so the police
 with every bad government known to man.
 May the dawn never come I pray
 yet, I blink to the hen's lilting note
 a new dawn is here, my drudgeries begin 

A call to play

 Mother never smiles in awkward moments
 her laughter prim and controlled
 her rages not so much.
 Mother never settles for less
 it was best and nothing less
 her failures were her constant shame.
 Mother fought the feeling to love, to want, to long
 it was weakness waiting, lurking to consume
 she never wanted for tears just friends.
 Mother hated the sound of many feet,
 it was harbinger for bad news, for gossip and disdain
 she kept her corner quiet, her children quieter.
  
 But Kabé it was that called me to play
 showing the happy and smile
 all things foreign in our home.
 Kabé who left for the stars before 
 he could become a pilot.
 Kabé taught me to fail, to try, to walk
 Kabé whose eyes lit like a thousand lamps
 whose laughter called mine to rupture.
 Kabé believed in messy and many
 Lacking tears he had many friends.
  
 Mother met Kabé and thought him loose
 Kabé met mother, he sang her a song
 I met them both each on the side of their fence
 I wanted to meet me so I rode into the sunset. 

Things they do not teach

 The name of one is a singular noun
 The name of two or more is a plural noun
 The names of many and more are communities
 But the teachers will never tell
 And students walk through life, 
  armed with answers to question they'll never be asked
 'What do you want to be when you grow up?'
 'What is your best food or fruit?'
 'When will you marry, this year or next?'
 But the real questions await:
 'How much do you make a month?'
 'Can you afford to take me out tonight?'
 'The list for the in-laws are here, hope you are prepared?'
 P.S. Rice and stew must be very plenty
  
 But no one will teach you.
 The schools that teach these are closed. 

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