Upon realizing women were born to burn A woman’s body is a mote an ash, to cure amnesia when memory dies forgive me for unburying pasts but there are ashes sitting on father’s knuckles where mother burnt we saw flames and begun to run we were born with
Pushed me out the nest Fearing the unknown Mistook your actions In hindsight, you did what had to be done I grew a backbone Woman! I am because you are.
You say take a right, I take a sho’t left When pictures were being painted and genders were stereotyped I was there bending my inner iron in the direction you didn’t want it to bend I cut myself out of your equations, out of your unreasonable reasoning Do understand the
Shut eyes bless me with green grass and never ending skies Universes I can bend and paint till the contention of my heart Until daylight creeps up and pops the bubbles I blew in the night With a thud, reality creeps in It’s vines like a beanstalk squeeze and crawl
Learnt To unlearn All I once knew Because all I once knew Amounts to none When I know nothing About life Belonging And all else -numb
They say dirty hands are sign of clean moneyA clean livingAs if dirty hands are a moral compassI don’t think they knew about youYou and your dirty handsDirt stained from hard labourThey are stained with innocent blood tooFrom the permanent scars your hands have tattooed on your son’s backThe blood
This is a collaboration between a Rwandan friend of mine, Claudine Karangwa Ingabire, and I. Just elaborating what a poet is, that we write because some people can. We hope to tell their stories for them. I Bleed Your Ink For my words that flow like a river With