Poetry

FEMININE AGONY By Adekola Hafeezoh

Written by Editor

I’m my mother’s daughter, 

Despite being my father’s bastard. 

The latter regards me as treasury, 

While the former regards me as a bitter kola;

Which all part is disastrous. 

My gold regards me as her world, 

While my mirror regards me as his irreplaceable detriment. 

My supposed mirror doesn’t permit me to reflect through its reflection, 

Rather he said I’m a fog that can never experience brightness. 

If you ask me why I despise myself,

I’d tell you you’re the cause. 

As you never see an iota of goodness in me, 

All my trophies are like dolphins to you. 

Lo! My subject even despise me so much,

That he doesn’t want my existence amidst his subject,

For he ordered his knights to execute my existence, 

As they believe my existence is second to 

destruction. 

What do I do when my mirror of life;

Isn’t ready to wipe my dirtiness;

With the fog of reality? 

How come all my endeavor is subjected to pain? 

Why can’t I find solace in anything I aspire for? 

For reproduction is like death definition in my world. 

Lo! Loneliness is nothing compare to sensation, 

As my relationship free life is nothing but a pain in my ass. 

If you call me ruthless, 

I’d call you clueless. 

As you never give a damn! to my existence, 

Despite showering me with undiluted tense. 

You still paint my world red, 

That no one is willing to touch me because of my dent.

If you call me fruitless, 

I’d call you senseless. 

You never can bear the pain for a second, 

Not to talk of a lifetime.

Maybe I should throw you a stone,

And you tell me how it feels;

To be stoned by your beloved;

That’s definitely my definition. 

Maybe you should try harboring blood; 

In between your thighs for a minute, 

And tell me how you feel. 

Lo! You can’t even bear stepping on it, 

For your toes would know peace not;

For the rest of the day, 

Talk-less of a lifetime. 

If you call me ruthless, 

I’d call you clueless. 

Alas! My priceless;

Is nothing compared to your dauntlessness. 

As the perfect of all has uniquely defined me, 

Who are you to criticize me? 

When you can’t even define me,

Talk-less of design me. 

If you call me ruthless, 

I’d call you clueless. 

For that’s really what you portray, 

As you know nothing about my arrays.

About the author

Editor

Bada Yusuf Amoo holds B.A in Literature in English from Obafemi Awolowo University, he is the publisher of thespeakingheart.com. He started the website in 2015, he has published both his works and other budding writers and poets on the website. He is a public commentators and his articles are on different websites.