Abiku By Bode Ojoniyi

They say; I am what I know I am not...
Ever since I came, father, mother,
And all treat me like a transcendental being
There is always a sense of apprehension
Built into my existence

To them, I am here for the fourth time,
This, I am made to believe. 'She is old and cunning'.
The palpable tension is in that forgone conclusion,
I have no voice to declare my ignorance and helplessness
Of negative virtues my fabricated being assumed before arrival

Mother, father... All, I am being violated,
Yesterday, It was a man with such guttural voice like an ancient mask,
Declaring and swearing to my ageless essence,
And warning of my imminent departure,
To again meet the eerie spirits of the cross road

Mother, father... all, I am being violated,
I have eaten and swallowed concoctions unimaginable,
...perhaps no true mortal could endure much?
The incisions on my body; the relics of different objects of sacrifices,
Have turned me to a tourist attraction...I am a living shrine!

How they presume I love to die?
Ever and always searching for misleading clues,
Of why I am frail and boring,
Mother, father...All, I am being violated
Of your ignorance, darkness and fetishism

Even if I had wanted to live,
How can I survive these violations of my being?
...the eternal search for my link to an elusive weird world
...mother, father, my blood is failing as you are failing
To see: I am not Abiku, but a product of your gene!

by Olatunde Temitayo

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