I saw Ajike that day,
painted in her regular hues,
A black eye, battered lips, and an expression of blues
Spitting out insults and commands while she wiped a bloody nose,
was the painter, her husband, the same who once called her his rose — his muse.
I saw Aminat that day,
marrying at twelve
acquired as a property to own and to shelve.
poor little girl forced to grow up so soon,
now she bears a heavy load supposed to be a boon.
A rose plucked too early, forbidden to fully bloom,
who could blame Aminat for her now constant gloom?
I saw Amaka that day,
brutally cut in her secret place,
now constantly at the hospital for a complicated case.
This didn’t stop the forceful deflowering by an unknown face
she knew the world was an unsafe place,
so she blamed the loss of her flower, her rose, her innocence on herself for forgetting her mace.
I saw them all today again,
Now only names engraved on concrete
Fallen roses trampled under violent feet.
We are tired of these stories, it still ends up the same
The only plot twist we ever hear is the victim’s name.
This is for Uwa, This is for Hiny, and every other dame
to whose life this menace called gender-based violence has laid claim.
We must defeat this menace.
We can defeat this menace.
And we will defeat this menace.
but for now, a minute silence for all our fallen roses🌹🕯