A Bouquet of Thorns

A Bouquet of Thorns

 

I am the prodigal son
Of the tamers of storm
Redeemers of the docile
From their conniving friends
Who armed them with gin and mirrors
To a friendly duel to the death
While they march with guns.

I am the guileless coloured
Descendant of the kolanut clan
I ride on the back of faded rainbows
Searching for my lost pot of groundnut
I follow the drumbeats of white shells
Till I find the hollowed mines of Solomon
And I brand it my home.

I am the senile onlooker
Who stares at the red ship
Sail away with Nok and the virgin soil
I harness the chains on my clans’ legs
And summon the oracle of Zuma
In the calabash of fools hope
The knights of the Sahara whisper.

Throw for them a grand feast
For they are worth nothing less
Fill their muddy plates
With spicy filth
Refill the rusty cups
Held in their golden hands
With the finest stale wine.

Celebrate the reign of poverty idols
And with sheer admiration
Bow, presenting to them
A bouquet of bloody thorns
Ripped from the tummies of the damned
And as they dance giddily
To the music of your sorrow filled cries
Watch as their empty roars of laughter
Comically turns to hysteria
Guffaws
Chuckles
Silence.



4 thoughts on “A Bouquet of Thorns” by Haphsah (@hafsah18)

  1. Jo (@josephoguche)

    “I am the prodigal son
    Of the tamers of storm”

    Those opening words came across quite powerful … Nice outing …

  2. Weldone Haphsa.

  3. good work, keep it up.

  4. Aahh!
    This is Tuche`
    Nice work there though I didn’t get message or †ђξ idea

Leave a Reply