Poetry

A SIBYLLINE
You my friend
I send you today
To him who stole my heart
Whose name is embedded in my being
Do not bend the truth
I will hurt more
When my words are twisted

In that white big house
Down the street on your left
She will receive you at the door
With a sneer and a rude reply
Make her know you want to see her ‘better half’
Be patient in order to pass my message

When the hour dawns
Tell him I have not forgotten
His delectable personality
And I despise not his demure
But I loath with all the fibres of my being
The garbled account of what transpired

Tell him that days pass by slowly
As if mocking my innocence
Do not whisper to him
That i will not simulate a normal life
For things are harsh on me
I know you will pity him
Because the city girl will
Keep on coming to check on him
With a weird smile
Then he will shrink in sorrow
As you go on with talking
Go on friend
Go on

Tell him in this dank
I call home
Starvation is the order of the day
And his silver ring
Is my fading flame of hope
Tell him how
My deep sunken small eyes
No longer allow tears
To flow down my bony cheeks
Instead my jaws are unashamedly protruding.
Tell him how my lanky body
Swims in the overside stripped dress
With a head scarf to complete the match.

Tell him I will not wait
And I should not
For I have reached the zenith of tolerance
Tell him I want him
To come out clean
And squelch the rumours with truth
Tell him to recall how
I built castles on the thrill of holding her in my arms
And even settled on calling her Ivanna
Ivanna the flower and crown of life.

They said I was jealous
That I hated the city girl
I wanted to punish him through
Ivanna,
Even the nurses snarled abuses at me and
I recuperated in psychological pain
Let guilt not haunt you

All I want is for him
To say who prepared the tea
The tea that took her unborn life
I want him to tell them
He had two women
Massaging his ego and
Granting him his solomonic pleasure
I stand on it,abortion is a crime.

By Ajiambo

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