written by: Benedicta C. Nwankwo
In the twinkle of an eye, it was occurring,
Like the snow from a high mountain, it was falling,
Falling without ceasing and season. Like the fronds from the tree,
It was drying and hanging off from its root.
Like a crawling snail, my morning was turning into night.
The sun that shone at noon began smithing on me.
The moon that smiled during my nights
Began shedding tears.
My world began tearing apart.
Like my shadow in the dark, my companions turned their backs on me.
Like a wicked master to his servants, they paid deaf ears to my cries
Like one who lacks speech, they shut their mouths to my complaints
And also shut their eyes toward what we planned for the future.
My world, indeed, was tearing apart.
In no time, my face became a spitting gutter.
My hair became the road where razors and scissors cross
My hands and legs; became the branches where ropes are tied.
My clothes, the rags of an unknown mad person.
In the twinkle of an eye, I was becoming a mockery to the people who smiled at me,
To the people who dined with me,
To the ones who once called me “their best.”
Now, I have nothing left.
Not my best friends.
Not my advisors.
Not my companions nor myself.
- Crumbling Piece - November 5, 2022
- The House - March 14, 2022