Black love poetry contains the poetry of a new breed of younger African writers
In today's Black Love Poetry, there is clear evidence of a new breed of African poets and novelists. Much of what my pages contain from Africa on Black Love Poetry are historical and rather dated.
This contrasts with the contributions I have included from writers across the Atlantic. My musings on the topic led me into the appreciation that my content would be lopsided and inaccurate if I omitted to include an update which incorporates the works of a variety of new and youthful breed of African writers.
These newer breed are making their mark as the inheritors of the older school of African writers who straddled Africa's colonial past and her painful birth pangs as an independent continent. Their published works are now a feature of much modern literature and are marked by precocity in style, content and delivery.
In order to redress this imbalance, here then are some of the modern black love poetry of one such tyro who has recently published a debut volume of his love poetry.
Charles Ayo Dada is a worthy contributor to my page on black love poetry. His love poetry speaks out most eloquently to the love lorn everywhere. Anyone who has suffered the adolescent pangs of unrequited passions would readily identify with much of what you are now about to read, dear reader.
Here are the first two offerings of the soul baring black love poetry of Charles Ayo Dada:
ALL IN VAIN
As the years rolled by
I fermented you like wine
And you tasted better
With each passing day.
My patience was extolled
And in my cellars were you stirred, ripened
And eventually matured.
Each passing day
Took some bitterness away
Till you became sufficiently sweetened
To flow into my vessels.
But out of obscurity
A vessel was brought forth
. .. By another!
And into this vessel did you flow!!!
What make of vessel
Was brought forth so
That numbed your senses so deep
. . . You wouldn't take a look back?!
I cannot describe the pain
No matter how hard I try
The wine that took me so much to make
. .. I wouldn't even taste!
I loved her dearly
And so we strolled
Hand in hand
Side by side.
I loved her too much
And I didn't want her worn
So I bought her a stallion
That she could use in trotting alongside
As I strolled.
But she galloped away!
Saying she'd ride by me no longer
Maintaining that only kings and queens
And not peasants
Could ride on stallions!
I then pleasantly reminded her
That it was I who had bought her the stallion!
She replied by saying
That I was petty and envious.
So I drew my sword
And cut off the limbs of the stallion!
It was my stallion!
The stallion died.
The maiden crashed.
And as she cried out for help
I turned around to give her a hand
Whispering softly into her ears:
"Couldn't the kings and the queens
come to your rescue?!"
Now you see what I mean about the nature of the bitter sweet black love poetry offered by Charles Ayo Dada. Here are three more for your appreciation:
We hid behind the smokescreen of lust
Where much non-chalance was permissible.
Paralysed by the emanating radiations
You didn't care
I didn't care.
Such was the ride
On the roller coaster.
A gust of wind
An incandescent glow
Cleared the hazy smokescreen
Before my gaze.
You didn't care.
Parallel lines were drawn
And our union was no more!
It's always a heated battle
... Whenever love and honour duel
We stood motionless and mute
Staring at one another.
Struggling to communicate
Like two deaf and blind persons.
One half of me
Wanted to reach out to you
But the other half
Was obstructing it.
Lay a love so strong
But our egos suffocated this love!
So in this boundless show
Of vanity and pride
We failed once more
In this union to attain
The melodious music
From the unplucked strings
Of our fallow guitars!
These are quite brilliant examples of black love poetry! What a treat on offer from Charles Ayo Dada. The lines that strike me most are from "Stalemate"....
"It's always a heated battle
... Whenever love and honour duel"
FOR THE SAKE OF A ROSE. . .
I thought I'd never get there.
I was dizzy
And my raiment was soaked in blood.
I had been stabbed by thorns
... On the way to a rose!
Yet, it was the sweet fragrance
The astoundingly beautiful petals
And the unparalleled beauty of the rose
That assured me
That if I did get there
It would be worth my while.
... And I did get there!
Though my hands were torn
And my raiment sullied
It was in those soiled hands
That the rose appeared most dazzling!
And once mine
I forgot all about the arduous journey
The classic Soul Mate and the quite brilliant soliloquy, Of Men and Love which comes across as a personal credo of this quite gifted prime exponent of Black Love Poetry, brings the page to a conclusion:
Soul mate -
Would you care to sit beside me
Where as stylus
I'd be permitted to ascend much higher
On the rungs of inspiration.
Would you oblige me your presence
To enable me storm the firmament
Where I'd liaise with spirits of the poets of old
And convey across to mankind
Their tidings of love.
OF MEN AND LOVE
Be it not of men to write of love
Then a man I cease to be.
Be it not of men to express their feelings
Then, what's this thing about me?
But, be it of men
To sternly wield the sword
And then to gently cup the rose;
Be it of men
To brusquely shovel the earth
And yet crave the tender caress;
Be it of men
To set out to battle bravely
And return surging and bubbling with feeling;
Be it of men to be all of these
Then, a man I seek to be!
Be it not of men to shed their tears
Then I wonder what I am.
Be it not of men to reveal their hearts
I must fear for what I've become.
And yet I firmly believe:
That a man should be as strong
As he should be meek;
That a man should be as courageous
As he should be true;
That a man should learn from the old
And as well seek the new;
That a man should seek an experiencing of love
In its pure and truthful
Childlike and simple
Kind and yet severe -
Just and mercifully beautiful form!
Where spirit leads and intellect follows
And soulfulness triumphs valiantly over base and
Be it not of men to speak of love
Then a man I cease to be.
If this is illustrative of the quality of the current output from the younger generation of black love poetry from Africa, then dear reader, you will forgive my inclusion of further postscripts on the genre...
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