Sitting down in helpless surrender
My glorious plumage applundered
I watch my captors, predators of all sorts
Yes indeed I spit, not on your graves
But upon your grave faces! Infidels
With no respect for womanhood!
O! They have taken my children
Unripe as they are, with stumps for breasts
Ready to initiate them into the cult of matrimony
I can no longer hide my revulsion, girls
Whose wombs have only shed bloody tears once
Are sold to old men, who invade that novel hymen
But now my spittle is mixed with tears,
Who will save my children, seeds of my womb
Feathers of my colourful plumage? Now…
Into the horizon, awaiting their fall,
And then I would spit on their graves.
Written by: Rachel Ige
Edited by: Kukogho Iruesiri Samson
I am a member of the WRR editorial team.