By Chioma Ibegbunam
The man whose hands traveled down the spine of my back
Perfectly relieving aches and causing my stiffness to shake awake
Evoking spirits I never thought dwelt in me,
Was that your plan to make me weak?
His rough palm planted perfectly on already gone-wet-land
A rude ride I must say, but too soft, as the strong-willed maiden moaned with eyes shut
Who do I blame?
What is this that I knew not would drive me insane?
For red were my eyes in hot pleasure and legs apart to every motion his hands gestured
Then like thunder striking my soul,
Something hits hard the tightened gates, digging down a way never trod
Alas! It opens!
Milk mixed with thick red wine
Sweet comfort yet so painful
My hands locked tight on raffia mat
My teeth meeting my lips as I tasted the salt of my tears
Silent words of sweet misery were all I softly said.
The opposite has met you this time!
The child whose heart is stronger than the Olumo Rock,
Look how soft your footsteps now paint the soil
Look how weak your giant tail of pride now sweeps the market square
For of all men, you let a Vagabond eat you bare.
I bite my fingers in shame
This crown mocks me!
Get off my head and leave me to sing songs sang in times when lions fed on grass
These beads are useless!
Get it off me!
Let me dance to the beat that will strip royalty off my feet
The one who used words that loosened nuts.
You did the unusual with your smile
And made me think freedom was laughing at your jokes
That it wasn’t so bad to walk on grass and count stars with both our eyes fixed up,
Then slowly, like finding fresh water in the desert,
Our eyes got fixed unto each other in fresh excitement
Where was fear?
Why didn’t doubts grip me?
My senses lost in the fake reality of a perfect union
My dreams had stories of all we could become,
I looked at the sun smiling like a Cinderella ready for another secret time with you.
You played my strings well and like a cut-down tree, for you, in love, I gladly fell.
So I am the little one for your plan
Your hunger for revenge made you fry me on your deceitful pan
Am I not ready yet?
Does your heart not rejoice in the belly you have greatly fed?
Is your Father resting in peace now?
Is your Father happy that the woman he loved so much,
Whom the king married and bore a child who now carries a child, is from his seed?
You have destroyed love for anger
You have crushed sweet smelling roses for your Dead Father!
You have killed my soul and buried your rubbish in me to grow out of Hate.
All for your evil quest
All for you to laugh and beat your chest
All for your one time “Ife mi” ADETIBA to suffer jest.
All to quench wicked thirst.
Choima Ibegbunam is a Final year student from the University of Portharcourt
who enjoys writing short stories and poems.