They Raped Mommy

They Raped Mommy

———

I’m writing with black oil
In my eyes, blood between my lips
and pepper in my throat

They didn’t come in the night,
They came at will, everyday,
dressed in random cassocks
With 72 pockets, heavy and patterned,
I see black guards everywhere.

They took their cassocks off,
for continued years
They raped Mommy,
She was on her period
I saw the flow, it was blood-oil
blood-soil, night-rain, night-pain.

She whimpered,
She cursed
She laughed
She bared her breasts
And looked at these rapists,
In their variants of vultures, lions,
locusts, antelopes and hyenas.

Today is Mommy’s birthday
But she’s still having cramps
from these rapists’ claws.

***

Badiru Kehinde is a Nigerian poet, short story writer, creative writing instructor, illustrator and editor. He was born in Lagos, and grew up in Okokomaiko, Lagos and Ibadan. “I Know Why Your Mother Cries”, his first published work of poetry would be republished [in hardcover] in winter 2019 and available for sale worldwide. Virtual copies are available on Amazon. Kehinde enjoys Soul and Smooth Jazz music, shares and believes in Jesus, Marxism and Karma. Kehinde, who is at the forefront of digital poetry in Nigeria currently lives in Lagos, teaches Creative writing to budding and would-be writers through the NGO, “Write Now”. He freelances as a ghost writer, and works as lead-editor and illustrator/designer with “Lofty Steps Consults”. Kehinde shares exciting stuffs on his social media platforms.

Connect with Badiru Kehinde on Facebook | Instagram | LinkedIn | Twitter

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Cheers
Kehinde

THE TALES OF SCARS

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– THE TALES OF SCARS –

 

They said, mornings are           for sunshines,

Evenings are for sometimes,

But tomorrow is for            telling          the tales of scars.

 

And dont blame her

For these scars          you can’t see.

In it are the fires              she buried beneath,

 

Beneath, beneath the length of a coat

Under it are strong arms which hold

the beauty of her skin,

 

But filthy scales have

Left it apart,

The beautification            of old men         in new clothes

Left her warbrobe tainted

forver in the paint of filthiness…

 

PS: This poem is inspired by Daniyan Ifedayo my model friend who you can see in the cover picture. This picture was her message for the Independence day. She spoke to me about finding a deeper meaning within it so we shared thoughts and as every art is fluid, I was able to create this out of her picture prompt.

 

Enjoy