The Melodramatic life of Bvsti
"The Bvsti in me speaks to the Bvsti in you"
Hello everyone!
Welcome back to my blog. Today is another good day for an #AfricanTuesday poem! I hope you are as excited as I am!
First things first, I apologise that this poem took way too long to be posted. A lot of things have been happening and I had to keep up with the busy schedule of my partner. Remember the partner, right? If not, don’t worry. I’ll remind you.
From the last #AfricanTuesday poem titled Binti from Abroad, I had promised to feature an amazing Nigerian writer on my blog. Could you guess who this person is? No? I thought so! He is none other than Kachikalum Asiegbunam. He is a passionate writer whom I admire. I am not even kidding you. His talent can awaken a dead soul and enlighten a darkened heart. Therefore, featuring him in today’s post is such an honour.
Enough praises for one person. Let’s get down to Today’s post. Today’s #AfricanTuesday poem is titled The Melodramatic life of Bvsti.
You will have to read it to find out what it's about.
Enjoy! Don’t forget to comment and subscribe for more #AfricanTuesday poems.
 |
| Bvsti is me and Bvsti is you |
*The Melodramatic life of Bvsti*
“Waka commot if you no hold”.
_Another day in the bustling traffic. Horns blared and heads bled. Bvtsi did as well. He bled sweat. Sweat from the scorching heat that seemed to concentrate in the Lagos bus stop. He sat there and wished. Wished for a better life. Like the one on the bill board. Like the one he knew not. Like the one that offered straight hair and white skin. The driver repeated swear words. His heart raced. He was traumatized by the existence of what was._
 |
| The Melodramatic life of Bvsti |
Timeline
Bvsti was 5.
He grew up in the loving arms of a family.
Familiar faces, different races, difficult spaces.
Everyone called him half caste.
He was black and then he was white.
Bvsti was 10.
He lost his sister to sickle cell.
He found his father in a locked cell.
He bid his mother fairwell.
He was white still he was black.
Bvsti was 16.
Absent mother, absent father.
Deceived and convinced
The life he had wasn’t his.
Concoct or convulsed not a thing could convict his convictions.
The life he lived wasn’t his.
Bvsti is 19.
He is suddenly shooting films.
He wants to be mainstream.
Doing drugs and getting laid.
He is suddenly injecting into his blood streams.
Bvsti will be 28.
He will be condemned to death.
Bvsti is me and Bvsti is you.
The Bvsti in me speaks to the Bvsti in you.
By A damaged black heart.
................
So what did you think after reading this? Any thoughts? I know for a fact that the Bvsti in here spoke to me. This Bvsti made me ask myself questions of both my past and my future. Questions of where I'm from and where I would like to go. Questions of injustices in our African societies and those of the insecurities we so badly strive to hide.
I think we are all Bvstis in one way or another. We're all Bvsti in our own ways, don't you think? So, the damaged black heart. Did it speak to you too?
Let me know what you think. Drop a comment and see you next week on another #AfricanTuesday poem.
You can also read Binti From abroad here
Dear Lulu, your writing is starkly candid. I enjoyed every bit of it and yes the bvsti in you has spoken very eloquently to the bvsti that is scared to exist in me. Thank you for this awakening.
ReplyDeleteNice poem. It is very captivating and speaks to anyone reading it(without doubt). It is also so relatable. It's a work of art. Amazingly done.
ReplyDelete