Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Clenched fist
Paced the little giant about the space
endless body trembles
Chronicles of palm wine infested nerves
What is there in his name?
So much she had stood firm for it
Wanting his love against her kins wish

Offerings to a deity
One that snored with farts
Evil had taken his vision
the first strokes of his cane, the devil’s err
The mighty wrestler had no match
For at the other end stood a damsel
A one in distress
embryos abandoned by narrow-minded chauvinists
became creations that  were left to the vagaries of women
hallowed feminists with their Ankara bags
perfumed head-ties with glittering beads
the sounds of their colliding bangles filled the space
they had no invitation to the platform
but their ways had won a people’s heart

protectors of knowledge
intellectual midwives
the people of the Village of Faces
salute you!
this is a praise poem; powerful women is different from women in power
One more creation was abandoned
Neglected by incapable lads
Flocks to clueless herdsmen
Sheep with feckless purpose
Drooling to episodes of their disgusting chivalry  
Their gold and silver were made of flesh
Trophies of broken women and promises
                        - Foolish sons and uncles

Daughters and aunties are creators
They watch the night like fearless combatants
Between the wretch of men and the future
These women stood like guardians
Ready to take every blow, every curse, all the crap
Just because one more creation will survive
                        - Believing lasses
God created man in His image; I didn't say that, I read it from a book.

— The End —