A NIGERIAN TALE by IG Abiaobo Jr.

I was beautiful once;
A ready slave
In my own father's house,
Rich as the rainbow's skin;
Poor by all visible means,
Till unity taught me love,
Till peace kissed all I was
And threw me into a lit frenzy,
A fairytale type of loving,
Ferociously tender!
On a night that spelt pure bliss,
Of bright yellowish sparks;
Like port marigold flowers
Dancing loops in October.
I had a perfect body once;
An object for mean indulgences,
Like a farm where men harvested,
But planted no seed;
With full breasts
That fed a million cavemen,
From the Cattle hills
Of the Northern protectorate
To the Green rainforests
Of the Southern protectorate,
Firm fruits since fallen
And made into western flip flops,
Till the wind of freedom came
And paid dowry on a shamed bride.
I became like heated water,
Emitting hope on every stage,
Giving life to dead dreams,
Dishing out promises
Like measured cups of rice
To widowed hands
And orphaned eyes,
Till greed smiled my way
And swept my wobbly feet away,
Till pride finally raped me
And stole what little honour
I had strived to regain,
Robbed my whole of a heart,
My existence of love
And cooked a pitiful excuse
Out of me!
My children know only pain,
A pot bellied drunkard
Whose frustration is contagious;
They remain strangers to unity,
My one true love; their father.
They can only but try to picture
The fine build of his body
And soothing effect
Of his addictive baritone voice
As I can only dream lustfully
Of his lips devouring mine
And a replay of lost years
Set on Tourmaline...
A relived merger,
A rebirth of the girl from October.
IG is a Poet, Chemist and a lover of things old school.