The diary speaks is a story written by Ibrahim Suleiman (fahadwrites) you can check him out on Instagram @fahadwrites_
THE DIARY SPEAKS: CONSCIENCE 1
She said; I am willing to give myself to buy myself.
Sell a fine plot to buy a plot,
But funke was not a slut, she was only saying if she could get a spot to slot.
Hmm, she even said I can’t be the everyday one;
Sparking one smile after another one, my soft fat cheek will ache na,
But could you believe from the sight of Alhaji she began to spread a healthy heavenly smile after another?
Hmm, it actually baffled me like you thought.
So me that won’t keep my mouth shut, i ran it up like a tap to rush,
She began to entrust in me that Alhaji was no just a man, he was a lasting sufficient fund walking in funds, she sure sparked another one following the mention of his name,
“Bad girl!!!” I actually said that in my mind, me ke, who i be?
THE DIARY SPEAKS: CONSCIENCE 2
Was it not just three weeks later,
Funke came back with a tip of tear tied to her eyelids today,
I was baffled till she spoke of the man again,
She said he was seeing Simbiyat and now he’s extended his ministry to Chinonye’s site,
Of course you know now, i did said it, “But men are scums o” This time too, to myself. I dare not mention it to her dear ears.
And that was how i turned a nurse and cared for her through the night.
The mumu girl teared up my face, my feets, my hands and infact, just all my body!
I actually always thought it was just the money,
But Alhaji seemed to be growing importance in our lives magically.
THE DIARY SPEAKS: CONSCIENCE 3
So i overheard her telling Tade of her plans of getting pregnant,
I noded it off cause she was laughing as she said it,
But my pretty owner slid it in unshrouded and allowed it showered the slot,
Maybe Alhaji wasn’t aware it rained so much,
But he actually didn’t believe the perhaps, “Danjuma” to be named was his design,
And so he resigned, but not with all the smiles and love he resigned with on that night,
Today he resigned with handful hands of slap on Funke, he was wild, of how she wrote it on my face, she almost broke a pen on my nose, she had never seen it’s type, not on him.
Thinking that was all o,
She fell for a call o;
Where she narrated how a doctor ran some things under her legs, as she spread them wide like her now smelling mouth.
Then hours later, my pretty owner began to bleed stream of blood,
It filled the floor, like it was an overflow from a pond,
They ran a quick surgery; as she wrote somewhere around my neck.
Funke left home with a womb; a womb gifted with a male seed, but Funke arrived home without a womb: a womb where a gift like a male or female seed could be received.
And wait, and you said men are not scums?
Perhaps i should mention some.
She conceived pools of tears and even sought for my thoughts,
She asked if a rat poison was a fine one or the mosquitoe’s,
Me that didn’t know if i should really speak, i kept on contemplating till she gulped a handful size of the rat poison,
And now; there she laid, groaning, having a conversation with the picker and her conscience.