I, with the precision of a recorder remember your voice
That thundered through the speakers
And caused a mini-earthquake in the auditorium
—Sent some chills down my spine
What did you say,
That drew half a bucket from my desert tear ducts?
–Tears that confluence with streams of sweat
On my usually dry and unyielding face
You told of how hell reeks with demons
That take delight in tormenting and frustrating
Those that took sermons for granted;
And those who took delight in disobeying
Instructions from the alter.
You said liars and prostitutes;
Drunkards and thieves;
Murderers and marauders;
Who told a lie to put a man behind bars just to take his wife,
Or bared their bodies for a man to roam within just to petty sums,
Who stole from their wives to buy cheap bottle of drinks,
Or took the life that won’t offer a bribe
Would play guests to those demons
That would fetch half kilogram of flesh
From their thighs to feed their empty stomachs,
And drain their bloods to quench their stinging thirsts.
Did you not say a drink could be a thicket?
One night stand?
Deceit and lie?
I saw you doing all of those,
And I wonder what you meant when you spoke yesterday,
Clutching the microphone with your unholy hands
And uttering words that crushed our spirits.
What did you say yesterday—that you have a ticket to hell?