The Definition of Hope

Poetry is hope; hope is life; something beautiful.

If you would listen, it is a promise.

If you would listen, quietly and get those codes that gently unveil themselves to us like dawn unfolds to day; like the caterpillar to a butterfly.20130217-203619

It is the look of waters

– on a cloudy night; wait a few seconds for when God’s hands pushes those clouds –

With stars and the moon dancing in a million glitters across several miles;

Can you see the diamonds bobbing up and down as the waves sing promises and freshness to your soul?
It is transformation from bleak to bliss.

It is the sight of beauty, the sound of desire, the smell of hope, the taste of victory and the touch of greatness… It is so much more…

It is your heart in words the mouth cannot utter; your soul in codes your flesh can’t decipher. It is the air and it is the earth – you can feel it without touching; you can grab it in your fingers yet it carries you.

It is dawn – the sun smiling when you wake.

Dusk – when the sun dives back below the earth’s belt.

The moon shining in shapes from a calabash to a banana, on any given night – with its stars glittering and dotting the skies, precious gems lighting the souls of the weary…

It is those words that tell us, who are heavy laden

– lovers who struggle to find the spark of fires that now seem like smoke

– a writer weaving words no one seems to care about

– someone looking over a sick one, in anguish

– people in recession, finding a single meal

– a father who looks to questioning eyes that ask ‘why?’

– a mother, forced to go to a trash can to pick meals like a lunatic, not caring about eyes that stare, as she puts food in the mouth of her baby

It is those words that tell us to look up in hope, even on those nights when the clouds come around to bring a sense of darkness
As you struggle through dusk, note every night gives birth to dawn and day, brilliant rays that will sparkle your existence

When it seems like the end, remember just when the caterpillar thought it was over, it became a butterfly!

The river that looks dark on a cloudy night, inviting you to taste of its depth transforms to a mirror of diamonds with a small push of Aôndo who takes all the clouds away

True. Those clouds…

They never took away the moon and stars. The clouds would slowly float away… but would you be waiting?


That is poetry. That is hope. That is life.

That is you.

You are verse. You are hope. You are life.

Too beautiful to be explained. Too deep to be deciphered at once, yet full of so much and more.
You are beautiful.
If they would listen, you are a promise.

If they would listen, quietly and get those codes that gently unveil themselves like dawn unfolds day; they would see the diamond that hid behind the rough.

You are the sight of beauty, the sound of desire, the smell of hope, the taste of victory and the touch of greatness… You are so much more…


Listen slowly to what the universe just whispered to my heart,

hear it everyday in the voice time should never make you deaf to:

You are the best verse that life ever wrote.


  • Copyright ©Su’eddie Vershima Agema, 2017

Ramblings of comfort (a poem) by Su’eddie Vershima Agema

(For Agatha)

The news flooded our plains
drowned our peace
and taught lessons on time

Yesterday will never be new
but today grants grace
where we can water memory
to squeeze laughter out of our despair

Even as pain’s strain strangles you
know I am here to give all my joy
to paint a rainbow if nature wouldn’t

For now, hold on Love
we will sail through this season of grief



SAILING ON A SEA OF STARS (A Poem of Hope) by Su’eddie Vershima Agema

(for agatha and dora)

on this night, I am sailing on a sea of stars
to lands that are fartumblr_static_full_moon_over_ocean_edited1-1024x818
the moon smiles brightly
and every darkness is forgotten

yes, though the troubles brew strong
I see God’s hand and I know they are long
enough to destroy everything that is wrong

tonight, for one moment
I will forget every single torment
raise my voice in song and forget the noise

on this night, I am sailing on a sea of stars
to lands that are far
the moon smiles brightly
and every darkness is forgotten



Slowly the numbers rise
like the evils we see in the skies
trembling earth
has birth us death

Pray tell
is this heaven or hell?

From NBC News
From NBC News

We open our hearts to paths
of a flow of the beauty of the soul
needing your help to grow
from this pain we now know

We pray with hope…but for how long can we cope?



The death toll in Nepal is rising. Over 4,000 last I checked. India and a few other countries were affected. Some lives can still be saved. Wherever you are, if you are touched and you can help, please contribute via this channel:


THE WEIGHT OF MY HOPE (A Prosaic Poem on Writing) by Victor Olugbemiro

Speaking has never been able to carry the weight of my emotions or thoughts or feelings or desires or dreams…
Somehow, I have been able to convince myself that ink on paper is an effective outlet; so I write
But when I read what I write, it just stares back at me, an incriminating evidence of yet another inadequacy.
I keep writing though, with the hope that someday, I won’t still feel hollow after writing; someday, I can fully express writingmyself through writing and be satisfied that what I write expresses exactly what I feel.



I was recently admitted into the new age spirit of an e-reader, a Kobo specifically. It took reading The Kite Runner by Khaled Hosseini to remind me that I still love that traditional smell of a fresh book that reaches to you like the smell of fresh fries on a hungry stomach.

In The Kite Runner, we are introduced to a certain present time by the lead character narrator. He talks of a phone call in 2001 that has changed him. Then by the next page, he takes us on a ride through his memory lane talking of his entire life from childhood to the time when he got married and that very time – 2001. It took some 150 or so pages to get there so you can imagine that with the excitement of Hosseini’s narrative and flowery diction, I had to trace my way back to Page 1. Now, the e-reader wasn’t fast enough to get me there – or I didn’t want to waste time – so I jumped to one of my bookshelves and picked the paperback. I read the two pages in seconds and was back on speed with my book (Page 175).

Oh! Did I mention that I am still reading the book? It is one you should. I think Khaled Hosseini is worthy of every praise he is getting. His story as I have read so far traces how we make decisions that haunt us. Our lead character out of childhood jealousy and a hope to impress his father betrays his best friend (Hassan) and does not stand up for his friend in a time of danger. This is despite Hassan being in that position because he had stuck to his ground

The Kite Runner
The Kite Runner

retrieving a kite for the honour of our lead character (Amir). Hassan forgives Amir and begs him to play but guilt strangles any joy that Amir might have had. In the end, he sets Hassan up and makes him to be driven away.

Okay, you don’t get the picture. There’s this caste system and Hassan is the son of the servant of Amir’s father. So, despite being born at the same time with Amir and sharing the breasts of a woman brought to suckle them (Hassan’s mother ran away and Amir’s mother died after childbirth), Hassan is to be Amir’s servant too. They become friends and Hassan is OVERTLY loyal. He is a strong boy who stands up for Amir always. Now, eventually Amir gets envious of his own father liking Hassan. He also wants to win the love of his father who doesn’t think much of children who prefer reading to playing soccer! Anyways, so, that is the point where this and that happens, Hassan still sacrifices a million times more for Amir and has to leave with his father breaking a relationship of many years.

War and instability comes to Afghanistan. Amir leaves his native Afghanistan and migrates to America with his father (his mother is dead, by the way). Time rolls on itself and a lot happens; his father dies, he gets married etc etc. He hopes to have fresh starts but he discovers; the past never really leaves us. It cannot be really buried. Perhaps ignored sometimes but never buried in entirety. Like our shadows, this past clings to us and when day shines we find it walking beside us. Well, that’s most of what I have made of his position.

As I read on, I think empathically of what Hassan’s life would be like at that point. How the pranks and nonchalance of the young Amir changed the destiny of Hassan and his father. I am thinking of how our acts of commissions and omissions end up being the decider on the making or breaking of people. I am thinking of my own childhood, decisions I have made and wondering if there aren’t holes to the past that I need to fill in whatever way. In some cases we have little or nothing to do but if we think deep we will discover that though we can’t right all wrongs, there are certain things we can do to make amends and be better.

As Hosseini says, there is a way to be good again.

Yes, there is a way to be good again. May the times give us the grace to be better each moment and work to right whatever wrong we can. We only live once, why don’t we make it worth it?


AT THE LAST MOMENT (a poem for the moment) by Su’eddie Vershima Agema


at the last moment
(we would find the warmth)



tormenting tides would wane
the storms shall cease
the floods finally fade
our rainbow would spread…
however sleep fared
life’s dream would kiss you

as the rays bless more
wake to stimulating smiles
come to the hearth then
the ghost would have found fires
and the spirit would’ve warmed our homes
no holes then dear, we would have a long lasting laugh. amen.


(From Home Equals Holes: Tale of an Exile – Joint Winner Association of Nigerian Authors Poetry Prize 2014)

 No matter where you are, hang on to hope, smile. In our deepest despair, the bleakest night, there come’s a light to repair it all and make it worth the wait. Have faith. Merry Christmas guys- and lovely ladies. SVA