BASTARD BY BANKOLE KOLAWOLE

BankHALL™

I was that bastard

The product of a one-corner dance,

whose vagabond lips stained mucus from forgotten dreams,

whose stubborn feet slap a street of blood-hungry men.

Yes,

I was in that womb when bombs broke like a water pot

Laboured breathe dragged like a pipe on shisha pot

Mother's eyes became broken sunglasses

Too shocked to remain in their sockets!

I was born by  a woman

who became a talking drum that couldn't utter a word;

a woman whose hymen died in the hands of high men,

high men who care less of diamond, silver or gold.

Men who only dream to keep themselves awake

behind sleeper cells to plan bloody raids.

I was that bastard whose mother's thighs fell fighting;

fighting third legs forcing toes into her (w)hole,

mobilizing warship to desecrate her temple.

Yes!

I was that bastard!

#BastardRants

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#SoundOfSadness

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Picture credit: cnn.com