‘Dry’ isn’t just a movie, it’s a revelation, and as a man, I feel touched in a way I haven’t felt before. I feel everything Halima went through even though I am not a female. I appreciate your effort, and I believe someone out there is smiling because of you.<\/p>\n
This poem is my own way of feeling your movie, I hope more people can be ‘Dry’<\/p>\n
I Used To Have A Dream<\/strong><\/p>\n I used to think about what could have been ****<\/p>\n Thank you so much Kolawole for this touching poem. <\/p>\n Have you watched DRY? What did you learn from it? Please email info@stephaniedaily.com<\/strong> and share your story on DRY to join the Movie Club<\/a>.<\/p>\n Want to see it? Order now from Jumia or Konga or check your nearest stores. To buy DRY on Jumia, CLICK HERE<\/a>. To buy DRY on Konga, CLICK HERE<\/a>.<\/p>\n SL<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" ‘Dry’ isn’t just a movie, it’s a revelation, and as a man, I feel touched in a way I haven’t felt before. I feel everything Halima went through even though I am not a female. I appreciate your effort, and I believe someone out there is smiling because of you. This poem is my own way of feeling your movie, I hope more people can be ‘Dry’ I Used To Have A Dream I used to think about what could have been whenever I gaze upon the rising sun. there is a broken pot in me, and I’m just another carrier of shards, forever wet with the shame of unknown fistula. I used to have dreams about the white collar I believed in a life of stethoscope Because I felt that was why my parents sent me to elementary. I never wondered why I look like a younger sister to my mother, I never understood why my father looks so old I wasn’t wise enough to realize the cycle I am just a little girl trying to find my feet. I wasn’t even two dozens old they told me I had to get married what seemed weird to me was […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":8810,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[],"tags":[105],"class_list":["post-8809","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","tag-dry"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.stephaniedaily.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/8809","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.stephaniedaily.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.stephaniedaily.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.stephaniedaily.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.stephaniedaily.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=8809"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/www.stephaniedaily.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/8809\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":8811,"href":"https:\/\/www.stephaniedaily.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/8809\/revisions\/8811"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.stephaniedaily.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/media\/8810"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.stephaniedaily.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=8809"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.stephaniedaily.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=8809"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.stephaniedaily.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=8809"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}
\nwhenever I gaze upon the rising sun.
\nthere is a broken pot in me,
\nand I’m just another carrier of shards,
\nforever wet with the shame of unknown fistula.
\nI used to have dreams about the white collar
\nI believed in a life of stethoscope
\nBecause I felt that was why my parents sent me to elementary.
\nI never wondered why I look like a younger sister to my mother,
\nI never understood why my father looks so old
\nI wasn’t wise enough to realize the cycle
\nI am just a little girl trying to find my feet.
\nI wasn’t even two dozens old
\nthey told me I had to get married
\nwhat seemed weird to me
\nwas perfectly fine with everyone else.
\nDo not remind me of the moon please
\ndidn’t it shine on my shame when I lost my pride ?
\nhis white beards scratched me
\nwhile heaven looked on and smiled with the moon.
\nI used to have a dream of impending happiness,
\nkids I would call my own
\nI am not even earth enough
\nbut they want me to grow a seed!
\nwhy force a stone inside a small calabash?
\nI used to dream of life,
\nnow the sun is setting,
\nand I’m still not dry.
\nI am still a broken piece,
\nanother of numerous naive victims.
\nI am a voice so tiny
\nmy ears hurt from jeers!
\nI am a walking puppet
\ntuned to the dance of men,
\nmen who parade me and others in a show of shame.
\nI used to believe in being alive
\nwhich is why ask,
\nwhy should I die bringing life?
\nWho is listening?
\nWe don’t stop what we watch.<\/p>\n