women of the night

Along the street, as a shelf displayed
Like royal palm decorating a driveway
Line the wined ‘women of the night’
In clothes and colours, merrily scented
Offering services that fouls our morals
It reeks of fornication and adultery

In smiles and tears, they work the night
A service to men and their drank egos
Like slaves and subjects, they respond
Performing acts to satisfy selfish delights
With groans that mocked their dignity
Driven by poverty, pimps and pleasure

Men hallow their touches at night
Merrily whispering desires and fantasies
And moaning the regrets of a caged love
They listen, all unheard in the wanton air
To the sorrowing beats of bleeding hearts
To secrets, of men sick with affectations

And yet, we call them names with disgust
They, who comfort fathers and husbands,
And out of respect, vault their secrets
They who rest in the day like vampires
For fear our faces will bring out secrets
Why suffer the ‘women of the night’?

We shamefully behold them as strangers
Taunting their dreams with sexual epithets
Doused in a dirge cursed with weariness
Short is memory, ‘women of the night’
We’ve forgotten that thou art family
Once, you were sisters and mothers

Your pride plunges into a maddening cry
Breathing laments softly in your hearts
And anguish bellows deep in your bellies
With screams of ‘whys’ directed at fate
For your critics are clients and customers
Who demonise your image in the day

broken heartedness

Evening’s lure sent me strolling in pubs,
Then I found her, staring into a glass
Half full with wine, red as redeem;
There she sat, laughing her tears out.

A glass of wine and a solitary woman,
A perfect pair for a shivering hunter,
Seeking a snuggle, a burrow and a thrill;
Sliding next to her, I offered a shoulder.

Blinded to beauty and deaf to sensations,
Her sphere of thoughts was a galaxy away,
Her whims and wishes cast in concrete;
Her emotions soured with vengeance.

Short, icy replies, my conversations stirred,
Aerated anger aired, purged with ferocity,
An accommodating heart has hardened;
And revulsion tinged everything around her.

Thwarted fantasies had exhausted her,
Draping her strength with livid illusions,
As marooned as a pirate with emotions;
Her world was narrow and dark as hell.

Meaning has lost footing on solid ground,
Like shattered glass, her thoughts scattered,
Incited, infuriated and resigned to evil;
Her purpose, a revenge seeking compassion.

a tribute

The spirals of September carried our son,

To the edge of life, beyond our reach,

Where fate resides; in his arms luxuriating.

A deep chilling silence has engulfed us,

And sorrow hath clenched our hearts,

A bleeding why? We howl and scream.

A greater son, the motherland has lost,

His fall, a thud louder than the oak tree,

Trembled and humbled the nation.

He’s no more, our son, brother and father,

Fallen and cold, a nation laments,

A statesman chaste, a finest man.

Amongst wise and bold, his name writes,

In golden letters, his deeds glitters bright,

A selfless service, he journeyed in life.

Our country and God, he served wholly,

Dirges, the drums beat, bellowing sadness,

That hath frozen our hearts and limbs.

Wreaths we arrange instead of bouquets,

With heads bowed and arms folded,

We wail, ‘cause our eyes froth with tears.

‘Ewurade nfa wo nsie yie’, a prayer implore,

Amidst our sorrowful sobs and sniffles,

‘Damirifa due’, a triumph chorus we sing.