I kissed the hand that killed me.
I washed the feet that kicked me.
With my hair I dried your legs…
Sweet ointments, I spread upon your chest.
But you fed me scorpion tails,
You my master-pieces.
My creation of fate
Mixed with love and peace.
I shielded you from the Sun and watered your land;
Until upon your arid ground, olives fruitfully stand.
Yet my gifts were roses’ thorns,
Its petals acquaints the earth that you may trample upon!
I sought a drink…
With Vinegar, you wrecked my dreams!
Of all my deeds of love,
A crown of thorns was my reward…
And for these, I ached;
My head bled,
My feet soured,
My being crashed…
Yet I showered you with kisses of love;
And blessed with the oil of love,
You, the cheek that ordered my fall
And the head that desired me never be tall!
meet the poet: Owokere A. Etim
I am a member of the WRR editorial team.