Poem 2- Word Play
Poem 3- Days Like this
Title: Not Sorry
By Victory Osarumwense
Sorry, I have a question
Sorry, can I sit here?
Sorry, I have a suggestion
Sorry, can we maybe… errr do it this way?
Sorry?
Why am I sorry when I have something important to say?
Why am I sorry for bringing value to the table?
Why am I apologising for having an opinion?
My name is Victory and I am not sorry.
It is 6:30 am on a Monday morning
I have been called to sit at the table with kings
I am so nervous I can feel the sugar rush through my veins, wakanda pressure is this now?
See, like the black panther, no one doubts my ability to climb, they tell me that if I stretch out my arms, I will reach for the stars (scoffs), but I don’t think I have the lion heart needed to be the King of boys in this field.
Yes, yes I know they pitched and appointed me guardian of this galaxy,
but I still sit frozen at the table,
Eating from a bowl of questions like, what if get to the peak and discover it is not in me? And like the titanic, all the faith they have in me caves and sinks in?
Sigh.
So just in case you ever wondered,
This is why I am scared to glow with pride, this is why I sometimes shrink my success, discarding praises deliberately you can call this false humility…
Sorry, I have a question?
Sorry, can I sit here?
Sorry, I have a suggestion?
Sorry, can we maybe… errr do it this way?
My name is Victory and I am not sorry.
Okay we’ve heard you, your name is Victory and you are not sorry. Okay
So, what about the days you will reach into the eyes of men, your heart beating fast, your lip layered with a smile that cries for validation, and you draws your fingers out hoping to find yourself enough this time.
Talking about the days you will feel the need to sink into yourself, trap the words inside, crack her knuckles nervously in the crowd- embrace silence, suddenly forgetting the history of your name. This name- Victory, Olaoluwatomiwa, Amarachukwukamgeregi- a self fulfilling prophecy of what will be.
I’m asking about the y you will be tempted to bend backwards in surrender, sit when she should stand, stand still when she should be moving oh, what will you do on days like this?
I will sweep through the questions that have made my heart a resting place, I will put them in a pot and cook up a confession that sounds like this.
Listen.
This crowd will not make me stand still,
arms folded, sulking, on a busy Lagos road
like I did not leave my house with a destination in mind.
These faces will not make me question the journey,
this distance between two worlds
and how fit my legs are for the run.
This moment will not make me question my faith,
give me this mountain and I’d crush it
for by my God, I run through troops, I leap over walls; I come out strong for I am more than enough…
So yes, it is true.
That everything I touch turns to gold, and my fingers are laced with light, so I draw life out of dark puzzled pieces and I laugh without fear of the future.
My name is Victory and I am not sorry.
