DAUGHTER OF OYA

A pen in my hand,
Flowing with rivers of ink.
Influence by the cruel sight of overflowing sadness.
Imprisoned by a heavy heart,
caged in an unbearable pain.

The thesis of a societal victim.
Struggle of An African girl child.
She was a student,
on her path to greatness.

Source

Half of her brain, was her beauty.
Lust grip the heart of men,
Living in the darkest corners.
They became subjected to silent whispers.
Fantasising the darkest affections.
In the house of canal desires.

She became the recipe for the obsession.
She was spread like a human sacrifice.
Submitting to their wills, unwillingly,
Disrespecting her independence with horrible violence.
The rod pierces into her soul,
Stamped her soul with horrible violence.
Left alone, to bleed out the pain.

She became mute,
For her mind, was as loquacious as a parrot.
She nurtured her darkest pain,
The fear of stigma, crippled her sense of belonging.
The insect in her metamorphose,
Without visible notice.

It was just like a dream,
Until, the dream became a reality.
Like a thief in the night .
The invisible became visible.
The reality, gave birth to a scar.
A scar, she must love, and care for unconditionally.

She became a wonderer, a wanderer,
In the journey we call life.
She became, a tenant in the home of depression.
She paid her dues.

Drugs became an option,
Pills became the perfect companion.
She crashed, like a log of wood
But for her child, she saw strength in her weakness.

She dwell in a house of Fantasies,
Love has no boundary.
She fell for the beauty of romance.
She met the perfect prince in shining armour.

On the dry land, the cactus will erupt.
The missing piece in her imperfection .
The reality in her fantasies.

Oh! love at last.
It has all ended.
She tied the knot,
In the most amorous manner,
She sow a seed, heir to the throne.
The seed, germinated into a fruit.

She walked graciously,
Calculating each step with delicious aura.
Romancing her protruded stomach,
with emeritus grace.
She had been warned by the illusionist .
Deceived by the perfectionist.
Criticised by the narcissist
To protect her fruit at all cost.

Her attention drew to the blood,
It has appeared again.
The painful Sight of a vermillion.
Not a case of periodical hormonal differences.
Her case was just different,
Followed by uncontrollable tears.

Given an option of surrogacy,
The option she had to choose.
Lost in a world of sorrow,
From the sight, she saw immense sadness,
Traumatised by the cyclical events.
Segregated by the stigma,
Quantified by the religious society.
A victim of celebrated ignorance.
A tale of a pathetic blemish.

She struggle to fight her oppressors.
Her prince became a king.
The king with several queens,
She became the unloved queen.

She struggled

She lost it all,
The beauty that enslave all beauties,
The prince that inspire Her fantasies.
The only fruit she bore, was the fruit of violence.
Her beautiful Scar.

She has lost the taste of love.

With a heavy heart, and a heavy mind .
Left alone in a world of regrets,
A world of continua celebrated hegemony ,
She became sad even for her happiness,
Rejected even in her acceptance,
Graced her loneliness,
With articulated charisma,
A wonderer, wanderer in her own world.
She has lost the taste of love.

Daughter of Oya

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I am @bookoons, reminding you today to Make A Difference!