Is she angry?
Or perhaps she’s hungry
That must be it.
As it’s always said:
“A hungry man is an angry man”
But is that all there’s to what she’s feeling,
Anger and hunger?
A slew of guesses, thoughts and assumption spew out,
When we see her this way,
When we see her not gay.
Nonetheless we aloofly watch her in this bout
And fail to wonder why,
I mean, how an epitome of affection
Became the citadel of destruction,
Of pain, resentment and rage
And she seem to be in a cage,
In her own world,
Blocking out all who wish to get near.
For her very nature is stilettoed.
But she has not always been like this.
She used to be free
Like a honeycomb, a home for the bee.
She illumined color and life, full of fragrance and love
And warmth of embraces.
Adorned with hope and crown with trust.
She spewed rainbow
With every utterance of hers.
Arrows and bow
She conquered with that smile of hers.
She simply was a goddess of peace,
Who could succumb violence to its knees.
Until her crown was tossed off her head
Breaking it into fragments of stilettoes.
Her adornment became decrepit from too much betrayal.
Her beautiful home raided, leaving behind ashes so grey.
Her warmth began to freeze
As her fragrance vanished with the breeze.
Once an open abode of hope has now become a silhouette of despair.
With a marred soul, no one could repair.
Sweetness in her is no more
For she’s now clenched in a world of her own
Where the sweet feelings of the old mattered no more.
Poetry by Stephen Abeiku Johnson