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Oct 2016
He beheld an orphan as he rode by,
Not even her beauty could he bye.
A master of many slaves he was,
Who had just returned from the war.
Her chastity overwhelmed his senses,
That he was bound to keep her within his fences.

He tied with her the marital knot,
Showering his affection on her a lot.
Came night, he took her home in hisΒ carriage,
To consummate their blissful marriage.
In weeks there was a conception,
And he planned at the birth of his child a stupendous reception.

Come due time, the midwives held to him his new baby,
And when he laid eyes on it, his love died for his lady,
For the baby had the skin colour of a slave,
And he wondered if she had had an illicit affair behind him, slaked.

He was greatly in shame,
Not even her cries of innocence could redeem his fame.
He visited no more her bed,
For he would rather keep company with the birds.
He had broken her heart
And turned his attention to art.

Come one morning, he cast her out.
With her child, her fostal parents she sought.
All her belongings, he brought out to be burnt,
And there he discovered the letter of his brunt.
His slave mother writing to his white father,
That if his true identity was hidden, it wouldn't matter.

Now he knew, he was a mixed-race
Who had discriminately thrown out, his lovely wife who vanished had without a trace.
And his black baby he had scorned,
When his mixed blood had been the very thorn.
The poem is as a result of a short story I read concerning a man who stopped loving his wife who bore him a black baby when unknown to him it was from his gene. He was white just like his orphan wife but he had no idea he was mixed and so blamed it all on his innocent wife who he kicked out.
Angela Okoduwa
Written by
Angela Okoduwa  Lagos
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