Night, Twenty First December

The dry breeze moves gently Infecting the Hamlet with its cool temper Even the birds shake and generate calmly A young lady sat at the front of a mansion Her oily body shines with the aid of the moon. Anon She look up to the sky and she remember Her head comes down like a withered rose, sadly. Her maids calls her in, she refuses she is forlorn. I was fourteen when our neighbor came to take me My parents, happy that their daughter goes to the city Gave her presents. My parents hugged and gave me a pea She hold my hand roughly as we walk along the street some people pity Me. She left me with some men. We didn't eat till night only a nut We were twenty. We were packed in a juggernaut We slept in the container till morn. We had all cried like a dying kitty My good neighbor is nowhere and they stood on us like Mcafee Fifteen of us where above fifteen. Each of them was to be a harlot. Two years for me to join them I spent as a house worker With a man a wife and four kids. No I worked more than break pads It was a house of six rooms of which I am the washer I wash clothes from pants to suits to wears mostly laces and jacquards. The box room was where I slept like a rodent Though delicious I ate twice daily, the dogs six times with content I never went to school; to the kids I was a rival and always a loser After my second year I flee to the streets where I prayed to meet some lads All alone I was lost not knowing were to go I slept under a bridge tent. Then I turn to the markets to carry loads for lords Before then I had been raped twice The token I got I used to maintain despite all odds By then I had known the city. Going to my parents was my one vice They received me with high expectations But they saw and got nothing. They asked me questions. I promised not to tell the truth I told them good words They wished to hear. To come back home three years after was very nice I cried, I had to endure the shame, villagers taught I should be rich I got no ovations. She now leaves in a villa As the governess. Her maids call her in once more With their dry lips. With her face now unwithered She rise up to retire at the door She looks back at the sky and her smiles awaken. Twenty first December she was taken Twenty first December the day she was raped at the street corner Twenty first December today. Her name? Bimpe Oladapo Twenty first December the day she will die. That day is waiting.