I was barely an infant when I got my ear full of tales,
Of how it was paramount to do no wrong,
Because well, bad things happened to sinners,
Like the plague of Egypt,
The wild, untamed and raging Tsunamis,
And there.. There was my definition of disasters.

But to Àwèlé, Awéléwà,
No disaster could trump the love she bore,
For her joke of a husband, a man whore,
Who fed her days with his fists and her nights with his manhood,
Thrusting her into a wave of confusion as to what was more disastrous,
His fists or her undying love.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *