Details |
Azfaria Abou Poem
On an island kissed by sea and sky,
Where winds blow soft and people sigh,
Lived a girl named Masumbuko—
Her name meant pain, and life moved slow.
A house of many, food was thin,
Love stayed quiet, locked within.
Mama was tired, worn and gray,
Baba stared as dreams slipped away.
Masu, strong but still so small,
Carried water, cleaned it all.
School was rare, chores were deep,
She cried in silence, fell asleep.
She met a man with golden charm,
He held her hand, he meant no harm.
He showed her places, skies so wide,
She thought she'd found a place to hide.
But dreams can break like waves at sea—
He left when she held life in thee.
With child inside, she walked back slow,
With heavy heart and eyes of woe.
No one yelled, and none forgave,
Their quiet stares became her grave.
But Mama’s hands began to hold,
In silent ways, in gestures bold.
She worked and worked with baby near,
Fought each day through pain and fear.
From cleaning homes to washing plates,
She saved each coin, she carried weight.
She dreamed of thread, of cloth and style,
Of Mama sewing all the while.
She joined a class, she learned to sew,
And slowly, slowly, she did grow.
She bought a machine, a little stand,
She stitched with love, with careful hand.
Masu Styles began to shine,
With colors bold and crafted line.
Two girls she trained, gave them a place,
A job, a dream, a little grace.
Her daughter laughed, her Mama smiled,
Her Baba’s heart grew soft and mild.
She learned of business late at night,
Still worked by day with all her might.
She found a voice she never knew,
She loved herself, she loved truth too.
Now women come from far and near,
To learn, to heal, to drop their fear.
She gives them skills, she gives them pride—
She helps them walk, not just survive.
Masu’s name once spoke of pain,
Now it shines like gentle rain.
She proved that with a bit of care,
A girl like her can rise from despair.
Africa is full of light—
But it needs space to grow just right.
Not just strength, but open doors,
A chance, a path, and something more.
Masu’s story is a flame,
That calls the world to change its name.
From sorrow deep to dreams that fly,
She is the reason hope won’t die.
Copyright © Azfaria Abou | Year Posted 2025
|
Details |
Azfaria Abou Poem
When I was a girl with ribboned dreams,
I saw myself on TV screens.
A mic in hand, a voice so clear,
Telling stories the world would hear.
I loved the sound of words I spoke—
Not for praise, or selfish hope,
But because each word I dared to say
Meant I was real, in some small way.
But life, it shifts like winds at sea,
And dreams drift far from what they seem.
I didn’t stand where anchors shine;
Another road became mine.
In campus halls where young hearts burn,
A civic space—a chance to learn.
Voices flying, full of fire,
Debates like storms, opinions higher.
I raised my hand with steady grace,
Then panic came to take its place.
My voice shook, my breath grew thin,
I battled fear that screamed within.
And though I spoke, the shame ran deep—
It followed me into my sleep.
I wondered why the fear felt loud—
Why being heard now felt like doubt.
Then back I went, through memory’s door,
To school days I had felt before:
I loved to speak, to dream, to lead—
But every answer came with need.
They mocked me when I knew too much,
Called me names for rising up.
"Pick me girl," they'd hiss and jeer,
Till I learned silence hides the fear.
So I grew quiet, watched the wall,
Avoided crowds, avoided calls.
Tiptoed halls with cautious care,
Hid the spark I used to wear.
By A-levels, I’d disappeared—
A ghost that walked, a girl unclear.
And even then, I heard them say,
“She thinks she’s better, anyway.”
All I wanted was to shine,
To make my mother proud in time.
But photos fade from those long years,
And memories blur with silent tears.
When uni came, I made my choice—
No cameras now, no lifted voice.
Mass Comm, I feared, would pull me in,
So I stayed safe, I stayed within.
But that forum sparked a quiet light,
And so I signed up overnight—
A small training, just a test,
To see if maybe I could still be my best.
They said I had a gift to give,
A voice that made the stories live.
For a while, I held that dream again,
Until fear called me back,
like a friend.
I moved behind the scenes once more,
Telling tales I didn’t store.
Framing others, hiding mine—
It felt easier, felt just fine.
Now I work where young hearts rise,
Where girls still reach for bigger skies.
And when they speak with heads held high,
I see the me I left behind.
They’re bold, unshaken, full of flame,
And sometimes, they call out my name—
“I want to be like you one day.”
I smile, but don't know what to say.
For they remind me of my truth,
The dream I lost inside my youth.
Each time they speak, I heal a part
Of what I buried in my heart.
Though shadows still may pull me back,
I walk ahead, stay on the track.
For that young girl who dreamed so wide,
For every tear she had to hide.
And yes—
I still want to be heard.
Even now.
Even when it hurts.
Copyright © Azfaria Abou | Year Posted 2025
|