Her Cross

The fellowship of the lonely.
Don’t be part of it.
Its easier said and can never be done.
How do you stop your breadwinner from heeding to
the call of his fore-fathers?
Its inevitability,never created.
Spontaenously, they invade his pasture like a
swarm.
As if his demise they were waiting for.
If possible like vultures they would have fed on him.
Yes!Vultures they are.
His kinsmen, yes, his kinsmen.
They prey on his better half.
Accusations upon accusations.
Opportunity to detest her openly,they have found it.
They make her a servant to many.
Insecurity pervades her existence. Because gone is
her saviour.
His demise they heap it on her table.
She is ripped into halves.
Her well is dry from so much overflow.

Nightmares when asleep.
Nightmares when awake which makes her
existence labourous.

Kicked out on the street and made a stripper.
Her off-springs distributed to foster fathers and
mothers.
What a nice term.
Slaves they are to slave masters and slaves
mistresses.
Who said its obsolete and abolished?
She is left bare both in possession and dignity.
To her in-laws she is an out-law.
No longer part of their kinship.
Oh!What fate?Fate.
“you are not recognised,he has another”, they say.
“you were unproductive like an unfertile land”they
say,after having four.

They claim its a license to let her go.
They reap it bare.
Leaving her with tear.
What an ageless art.
Posterity the jury where you at?



3 thoughts on “Her Cross” by Onome prince Tadafe (@thaprince)

  1. “to her in-laws she was an outlaw” had a nice way to it.
    Second verse, sp. “laborious”
    offspring is a word without a hyphen.

    I’m not going to say the poem was well rendered, well thought out, well spaced, passed across a valid social message, was a good read, and all that good stuff.

    Oops, i just did!

    Nice one @thaprince

  2. Thank you for writing this like you could actually feel “her” pain…
    Beautiful piece

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