Prose

Hues of Ms Obianuju

Bag of bones
Anemic rope of flesh bound
Jaded eyes
In a mud of drug residues
Wares of speculation
The later, not the former
*
Tongue of eloquence
Grim reminder
Of a life set for a rising
Breached by the passing
Of a beloved father
And a broken mother
*
Sobs tumbling
Off a cold pot of memories
Chase an unpaved future
In the home of strangers
*
Knees on the floor
Over grams of sweat and grit
Loose tops, un-corseted mammilla
Dangle in the air
Pull inflamed eyes from their roving sockets
*
Advancing march rebuffed
Inflamed buffalo charges
Pounces to have his fill
On a wet ground
Grunt of satisfaction
Groan of despair
Just like yesterday
*
Stuck on the street
A stranger to rescue
A fare and a meal
A father figure request
Scared to be hinged
To a stranger in distress
In a world difficult to read
Leaves Ms Gaunt Obianuju
In the lurch.

About author
Publisher and Editor-in-Chief, Newspackng.
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