We frolicked around the sandy lands that were once roads, and bathed ourselves with scarlet water that were once clear. We loved with hearts shapened by pain, with hearts immersed in fear.
Amidst the crumbles of houses that once stood, you knelt on glass and asked me to love you always, and just that once, I didn’t hear the baby cry in the distance, nor the woman scream nor the thumping of the ground by soliders; all I could hear was your heartbeat and mine, and I felt not the fear in my heart, nor the pain of death, but the peace of love and trickles down my cheeks. And as you slid the safety-pin-of-a-grenade-make-shift-ring into my left finger, your eyes became glittery as your love overflowed from the corners of your eyes.
On our wedding night,
We made love to the sound of explosions,
and formed ourselves a child. I knew when she was conceived, and I felt it in my heart just how much good she’d bring amidst this misery.
The day she was born was cold, dark and stormy, and there was no one else around but dust and debris. Through the aches and pains, I pulled through and so did she. Not only did her cry calm the winds and weather the storms in our hearts, it brought forth a pick-up truck full of bright-coloured people who smiled a smile of assurance. Then, I knew just what she’d be called, as she brought us a hope not of this world, she brought us NCHEKUMECHUKWU: the hope of God.