Shedding tears of blood
Her soul, once stuffed with mirth
Hunts now for even a grain of joy
See the favour love has done her
Pierced her and dealt her severe wounds
With sharp swords of treachery
…Then deserted her
Now she knows nothing but bile
Her fount of happiness, as a bone, is dry
Did she not listen with deaf ears
When like Ceasar, she was forewarned
This she was told, that love is a thing
Of hurts
Of wounds
And smarts.
Thick-dark has become the hall of her passion
From one end to another she gropes
Combing for solace
She has become a desolate tree in the woodland of love
Pity her, give her succor
With warmth heal her broken stem
Restore her wrinkled shoots
And, flood her moist-starved roots.
Written by: Okwudinka Chinonso Nuel
Edited by: Kukogho Iruesiri Samson
