I live a life and yet
My life does not belong to me
My people say i am not
Good enough to enjoy the
Sweet caresses of the school
nor the stirring exhilaration
Of paving your own life's path
nor that of talking on same tone with the man folk
nor that of putting down my foot.
Like shivering blankets open to
the mercy of the dry cold
I must clasp unto others
For my life is second fiddle.
I must not dip my scorching hands
into the unceasing pond so near
but wait for the falling saliva of the man
to wet up my hungry skin and mind.
For it's a man's world.
And my nimble toes must not
toe the constraints of the white lines.
And yet that not be
When my arm can stir the soup
and my hand can beat the dirt
off stone-faced apparels
And my weight rock the sobbing child.
I am bundled like a loaf of bread that i am
Into the bosoms of city madams
Left with no right of rights
My palms are anointed daily with lathe
and the cold comfort of the listening floor.
Nor in the serving of hot meals
of which my mouth share little or no kiss with
do i find any delight?
nor do the tell-tale signs of
My madam's sessions with the rod
Provide any bittersweet solace on my back.
Nor in the romance of the father figure
The rat who plays when the cat is away
tracing his surging deceit
along the length and breadth of my body
Cutting embers in his drill of my hips
Lavishing me with no two minds
Now and then, i lay bleeding
not of blood, but of black pain
Of being drummed on the head by the madam
and benaeth the legs by the 'oga'
For i have a common kitchen bowl
licked by the children, rinsed by the madam
and dried by the father.
My soul is cut in two and
My heart chokes with the words that
my mouth cannot give birth to.
OGBU VINCENT CHIEDOZIE.
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