Like a broken heart
Singing dirge to a fruitless womb
Like a sad mind
Chanting lullaby
For a dead foetus

Wandering wonders
Befuddling bleeding heart of a young poet

What will become of her?

Her glowing eye balls
Her seductive lips
Her tempting figure
Testify that she is of noble birth

But why is she the one?
Whose skirt keep malice
With her legs?
Is she not the one?
Whose children’s food
She displays for all to see, even the fool?

Ahah, all in the name of fashion
You prefer to be call an harlot

Are you not the one?
Whose hymen
was broken by age Ten?
Tell me are you not the one?

You are of noble birth
Yet you chose to
Crawl in the dirt
Why should you?


What will become of you
In the end time of judgement?
The narrow path fits you
But your profane attitude kill you

What shall become of you?
You harlot of noble birth

Remember when all is lost
You will turn back to dust.


Written by: Odunola Don Kolawolu

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