Papa breezed into the house with reckless
abandon, sitting on his face.
He reeks of the local paraga from
Mama Chinonye’s store.
The store, Ada swore she would never go again
because 18-years old Justice touched her
almond shaped breast and told her to be quiet.
“Afterall, She’s just a a girl and it’s a man’s world.”

“Where is my food?” His angry voice comes roaring,
silencing every other voice in the house.
Two days ago, he counselled me to always scream
at a woman.
“That is how to be a man.”

His belt joyfully bites the flesh off Mama’s skin.
Pain cuddling her scrawny figure.
Her screams shedding the stillbirth silence that
embraces the room.
I am not surprised.
"To be a man, you must learn how to scream and curse and shout
at a woman.”

Papa is done and retired to his room.
I watch Mama - the woman whose tears I never see
The woman who carries unseen burdens on her back
The woman who manages to canopy her worries from me.
I watch Mama as she stands up lazily
Regrets groping in her eyes, yet hope finds a space
In-between those eyes.
Hope that tomorrow would be better.

Add 20 years to my age and I am 30
I am scared of getting married, because I don’t want to turn out
like my father.
I am the victim of a failed marriage and an abused mother.

This is a poem for those women whose tears find rest
on their skin.
This is a poem for those women whose vessels of love have been shattered.
This is a poem for those women whose faces have become a
monument of their husband punches.
This is a poem for those women whose hearts don’t pump
blood, but first- frustration
then pain
and regret.
This is a poem for those women whose bodies are testament of
sores inflicted by men,
 sadly those bodies are demanded at night for pleasure.
This is a poem for those women who are shoved aside because
“Its a man’s world.”
This is a poem for those women who have had enough.
This is a poem for those women whose blood cry night and day.
I am a man- and this is a poem for those women like my mother,
who have forgotten how to live.
The words of Papa comes knocking on my memory
"That is how to be a man".
I have decided,
“I am out of being a man”


1 comment:

  1. I love this one for the quagmire at the beginning and the calming mood at the end. The ascent and descent that played in my head while reading this. Weldone Edaki.


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