With cheeks raised above the moon, her eyes squinted slightly…
Flint and steel in her hand, the roaring blaze came alive;
Revealing through its sight, her beautiful scars.
Perfectly sunken jaws to endless years of toils,
Finely bruised lips from kissing “their” wishes to boil,
Bewrinkled forehead through centuries of blissful grief!
But “when a cat washes its ears, you know it’s going to rain.”
Her tobacco teeth flickered with the rays;
Unearthing dear solace from its grave
At last, was the overdue day foretold to melt away her ache!
Snip-snap-whoosh, the dying branches gasped for air.
Inexplicably, their lament swayed away her fears.
Her mouth was too pregnant to speak,
Her fingers were frail to mimic,
But her radiant eyes expressed for weeks,
The volume of peace conceived within!
Drip… Drop… Drips
Into the blaze that its dimples bled!
Splish… splash… splish
Dark circles began fading away in haste!
Her limbs were too feeble to fly
And as the sun uncovered the sky,
Curves giggled from her nose to mouth for weeks
Courtesy of peace (for it makes you still).
This poem was published in the 12th Issue of PoeticAfrica magazine.
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More Poems:
Deceptive Game – Oluoch Victor Adala (Kenya)
Masks – Mohammed Yusuf (Nigeria)
All Things that are Not – Salihu Aminu (Nigeria)
