How I would riddle your frame
With a thousand heated words!
If I could ink, now, scalding acid,
Would I not drown your greedy throat
That your tongue may lie no more?
If only I could rhyme you death
And enjamb your stolen laughter
With spells of lingering tears!
My pen bears not Merlin’s spells
Nor my ink the curse of death.
Still, I shall curse you to your grave.
My words shall steal into your souls
And be the worm that eats out
The vegetable’s life from within.
I shall write, verses to make you
A blank verse, empty, dark –
A shadow that walks the day.
I’ll rhyme your day into dark night
If your lips shall not swallow their lies
And your hands, return the stolen dreams.
Written by: Kukogho Iruesiri Samson
I am a member of the WRR editorial team.