Amachara
In those days when national service
Conscripted me for a necessary chore
In in the tap root of Amachara
I abode
At dusk, strange hands lacerate my flesh
At dawn, your girls dragged me into drudgery
Today, weights of reminiscent garrison my thoughts
Amachara, are you still the egret that drums in my auditory?
Is your tail longer-than Mbaise?
Perhaps your cousin Ezeleke
Will let me proof the weight of my love for her.
Copyright © Kingsley Awoh | Year Posted 2011
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