Francesca Nwalozie

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Francesca Nwalozie
Saturday 9 April 2022


Save your tears for dew tomorrow

And your breath, sell an ounce for a sorrow

If tomorrow were reaped off its harvest,

Will fear and darkness have its crest?

If the moon were to meet with noon

Will the sun leave its cocoon?

We tremble not of fear but of weakness

Fighting lost battles of our own mirages

We sing ancient hymns of redemption

To console ourselves that the battle is won

/Put a throttle to the boulder,

And place a coin on each shoulder/

When the fires are out and the stench of war is no more

Then we shall sow our harvest back into tomorrow

And mend its ridges never to be narrow

But until then, we wake to live each day

And live in hopes for the next

Praying that the day never guts us alive or swallow what’s left of our pride. 


Francesca Nwalozie
Thursday 22 April 2021

A trip to insanity

Before my lungs could breathe...

Before my throat could permit...

Before my lips could part...

The words withered on my tongue

The words were thus;

"I love y….."

Or do I?

Or did I?

Maybe I'd rather not!!...

My skin aches so badly from missing your touch

Each follicle pricks against my heart

How do I cure this malady called love?

I've tasted its insanity and felt every pang of its pain 

It has bruised my heart to gold

And melted my brain to sand

So I'm left here, again,

Stuck in my head, pondering

"If I choose this day to take a trip to this insanity

Tell me, will I ever come back sane?"


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