She tilled the soil,
A plantain tree stands for the toil.
Tongue tied in loops;
Separated from her plantain plantation,
Her presence makes her plantation's belly churn.
Heated in anger like one frustrated in Mars;
Hands and feet in chains
She nibbles off the crumbs and decayed grains.
The judge is her father
But her justice traveled farther.
A herdsman emerges to aid,
With poverty and anguish he squeezes her into Hades;
People by the Niger disappear and fade.
I heard the nationalist paid;
Why are we here today?
Throat sealed! No regurgitation.
Decayed humus-filled belly ceases purgation,
Perpetual dry eyes with mopped up tears,
Toiling skin that never sweats,
Hippocrates takes to his heels;
It's idiopathic! I only cure but God heals.
Who will carry out a deliverance?
The white garments whip her buttocks and hands,
Rolling and cursing in holy exorcism
Let's pray it's her liberation season.
Do you have an article you’ve written or would like to write?
Something else you’d like to share with us on Prose & Poetry Hood?
Don’t hesitate to send submissions to email@example.com or.
Subscribe to Poetry Hood by Email
Labels: #PoetryHOOD, Africa, ANDREW IFEATU JENNIFER, colonisation, Life, Nigeria, Poetry, Politics, slavery