CURSED BE THE BEDDINGS

Cursed be the beddings
That soaked up their love
To produce a vain thing
From the whisper of sweet nothings
To grunts and sobs

Her smile is a concealer
A replica of that of daughters of the eastern heartland
Concealing the world and everything in it

Her eyeshadow coloured black and blue;
Is an imprint of pummelled punches
From that love war at Waterloo
Rouge cheeks betrayed by bad blood that vowed to stand in the dock

So I say a prayer
To open the eyes of her mind
To the truth that beasts leave not their meals half-way

Wearing white-toothed smiles while transversing dark paths
I kneel and say a prayer
That you will live to tell this tale

Of kicks that became pats
Punches weaved into your heart
Bruises that will never dry
How come you are yet to die?

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JENNIE IFEATU

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