SLAY MAMA
To slay with a lasting sword is to be the mother of Alexander the great
One whose eyelids is dressed with gold on the circles of silver
One whose body is an art of war painting the science of peace
Mother said a good hunter must pause & ponder at the game of words -a face of gold, the sparkling silver eyes - lasting sword
She whispered with astute solemnity; hunting is poetry where the forests are hefty words and the deer a dear but the arrows are devices of light, fire, shocks and sounds sown in the winds to be reaped by the reader's mind.
The hunter is with his gun and to ponder in this forest is to observe a beautiful face thus smitten
Sometimes a hunter can be on a horse racing to the sky and falling to the ground
Because in the hunt, the deer and the dear is the goddess of red lips
like sparkling wine intoxicating with tempestuous staggers,
Her smiles are brighter than the glitters of the golden blades.
Her hair could be black or coloured
yet smoothly carved in curvy shape than a sacred crown.
Her face could fall a man because of its countenance glowing as the moon.
Sometimes she poses or walks in steps that indict charms.
She has two evergreen mountains of sumptuous delicacies that a man can only help his bites.
Mother said she must be beautiful or made to look so by a god, a painter, a poet whose words is this gaming woods of tricky forest
Whose imagery made a hunter of you
Striking like the sweet venom of a metaphoric snake
And the gun is your wits gutting down the mountains of expression.
To slay then is to be slayed
and to be slayed is to be a slayer,
to hunt is to fall for her tricks and beauties,
to be killed is to gun for murder and
to fall to the ground is to slay oneself.
© Ganiyu Taofeek
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