It was a Good Friday,
by akachukwu chukwuemeka ( akabeks)
The day eye met you.
In a dusty, harmattan ridden, exam malpracticing class.
Eye became the invigilator
The candidate of a destiny disowned.
Exam gone like you are today,
We opened that barrel of naivety
Just to admire the purity of the spots
In this wonderful gazelle you are.
Spots that never stained,
Spots that you opened for him
And, you hurt me.
Like a stray sheep at the aim of a wild hunter
Without a day’s catch,
You dabbled into the embrace of the
Gynecologist and he pierce without mercy,
That seal I admire most.
With triumph, his dirty scalpel became
But, momentarily, a nostrum for my balmy lines.
You hurt me,
Eye bid goodbye to a cracked trumpet
That false a tune.