Celebrating my mirror’s reflection

Photo borrowed from: http://styledandwired.blogspot.com/2012/07/how-to-love-that-girl-in-mirror.html

I sang sonnets for you, said I croaked,
Tried changing my walk to suit your taste,
Said I looked ridiculous,
Even changed my hairstyle all for you,
Smiled right at my mirror, a rehearsal for you,
My efforts you never noticed.

Was it my dark skin that bothered you?
Tried removing a little tint,
With all beauty bleachy concoctions,
New look never hurt. For you, why not?
Stranger stared back at my mirror,
‘Sidika is off your league’, you mocked,
I never relished it yet for you I did it.

Maybe add some inches on the right places,
You turned to stare at every bum in a skirt,
My morsel increased, to steer your gaze my way,
Said I’m slowly turning obese,
Yet my mirror told me I was just fine,
So hit the gym I did, till I was scrawny,
Still you remained as steel.

I know better now not to break my back,
Not to lose sleep pleasing you,
I sing sonnets and birds dance, boy am I good,
I dance to my tunes too, that’s all that counts,
I wear my hair long or short to suit me,
Celebrating the girl looking back at my mirror,
For she is happy and drop dead gorgeous.
 

Juliet H. Amor

The past is where it belongs

I can’t go to the past, to change it,
No! I don’t possess such powers,
Have tried enough times but,
The clock of time just won’t rewind.
 
I can’t change the past despite trying hard,
Why dwell on yesterday’s failures?
Mistakes returning, haunting on silent nights,
What was done is done never to be undone.

I also wish it were different sometimes,
I appreciate it though, wouldn’t trade it,
It made me who I am, stronger, brighter, wiser,
Gave me capacity to stand during hard times.
 
I have a future I am going to,
From where I am, it looks bright,
So don’t remind me of the dark past,
It is perfectly where it belongs.

By: Juliet H. Amor.

THE HEROINE GRANDMA

By Juliet J. A. Otieno 

That woman means the whole world to me.
Many are quick to criticize her,
She is more than grandma to me, she’s Ma,
She taught me values in life.
Yes, I am proud of Ma,
Despite what you may call her.

I overheard her telling her sister.
How her daughter killed my brothers and sisters.
That day, Ma walked in just in the nick of time.
Found me crying on the hands of my ma,
About to be baptized in a basin full of water.
“Don’t do it!” she shouted at ma.
She saved me from sharing in my siblings’ fate.

I know she has her weaknesses, who doesn’t?
You dare call her whore, prostitute, loose,
spit unutterable obscenities at her.
You even gossip that she has AIDS,
I simply call her Ma, for she has more than earned that title.
She stepped in when ma wanted me dead.
That’s enough reason to stick my neck for her.

She leaves each morning for work.
Imagined she works in a busy office,
Ma must have had a lot of work daily.
She comes back home tired, hair to toe nail.

Sometimes I pray to God I grow up faster.
At least I would get a job,
At last I would help my Ma out.

Ma wants to hear none of it.
Ma does not make things sound so easy.
“Jobs are hard to come by.” She says.
Focus on books, get a good job in the future
what good is the future without Ma?

A future, taking forever to get here,
Does the future know what Ma goes through?
To bring bread back home,
The bed, her tool, to bring bread to her brood,
A tool that’s left her permanently scarred,
I know it but would rather keep silent,
Ma thinks she’s protecting me, keeping secrets,
I am the one protecting her, feigning ignorance.