#16DaysofActivism: The face in the mirror

an image of a mirror
An image of a mirror. Photo by Jovis Aloor on unsplash
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Summary

Balogun Teniola Nafisat is a writer, poet, and sports advocate passionate about gender equality and inclusion in both sports and art. Her poem, Triumph — The Face in the Mirror, reflects the journey of reclaiming identity and strength from past trauma, symbolised by the removal of a veil that once concealed one's true self.

Balogun Teniola Nafisat is a writer, poet and sports enthusiast. Her works have been featured in several literary magazines, including Wingless Dreamer and The Bridge Writers. She was the first female SUG sports director at Bayero University, Kano and was also the pioneer lead rep of Poets in Nigeria Initiative (PIN) in BUK. Tenney is passionate about driving inclusion in sports and organised the first para-sports competition in BUK. She is also passionate about gender advocacy and gender advocacy through sports and art. As Campus Ambassador for the Gender Justice program in BUK and as part of a student-led intervention programme, Tenney leveraged sports as an avenue to instigate change and foster a safer and more inclusive campus environment. She is also the moderator of PIN Connect Centres–Poets in Nigeria Initiative. Tenny writes in advocacy against #16DaysofActivismAgainst

TRIUMPH — THE FACE IN THE MIRROR

The veil on the mirror came off,
and there it was—your face, not mine,
etched with shadows of hands that bruised,
your laughter still a scar on my lips.

I used to see you in every crack,
every jagged edge reflected back,
a face that wasn’t mine but claimed my skin,
a haunting mask I could not shed.

But TODAY, the veil came off—
the dusts cleared, and I found her,
a woman made of battles fought
in silence, her strength in screams swallowed whole.

Your ghost no longer stains this glass;
it does not own these eyes that burn,
or these lips that now curve,
not from pain, but from the triumph
of reclaiming all you took.

I am no longer a mannequin for your sinful display
This body is not your canvas to scar,
these hands—no longer shaking—are fists,
ready to hold, to heal, to fight.

The veil on the mirror came off,
and I saw her—me, at last—
not broken, but remade
from every shattered piece
you thought would stay lost.

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