BLOOD BATH

Suckling on the nipple of this rifle,

I swallow cannon candies  and chew on bloody curds

Offer me the great treat as we sign this treaty

Treat me right in this agreement so bloody -

Yet worthy 

Tell me of the achievement of throes,

Pleasurable torments

Memorable anguish 

Where was progeny when these sullen stories were born?

When I got the studio sessions from Sheol

Recording with glorious scowl?

Where was she when death visited me with great lush?

Was she lost in valhala

Or cooking sweet "wahala"?

Tell me where she lay when I lay eggs of mystical pleasure born of the burns suffered from Lucifer

Remind me of where she was when I dined and died and death couldn't keep me!

Oh! She was lifting holy hands shouting glory hallelujah! 

Lifting up holy hands to the Almighty 

In feigned fellowship of unity,

Casting out demons of gore

As mockery became my girth.

Reminiscing what her hands could do-

Holding on to the rod of Moses

That parts the sea of labia

Wait-

Was it not the same hand that actively performed the fellatio rituals?

Tell me of a tool so mighty -

Mighty to raise mighty men to dust

Tell me of a tool so subtle -

Subtle as to shuffle between the pews of the congregation, 

Knowing where and how to tread.

I would tell you of holy hands.

Lifting holy hands,

Waving glory hallelujah 

Even after giving the viagra to ensure vibrancy.

Holy hands locking unlucky aimless souls.

Lifting holy hands

Hailing Jah for a night well spent

in exhibiting the painting done in the inner tent,

Not minding being the tenth

Even as it pays the one tenth of the bill.

Lifting holy hands

Saying silent prayers for the child sent to soak in darkness of afterlife. 

A foetus isn't a child- it has no life of its.

To what extent shall her holy hands do helly things

And still shout glory hallelujah in the sanctuary? 

By: Olamiposi Omoyele

Edited by: Bankole Kolawole

Picture curled from Obinna Udenwe's "Holy Sex" (http://brittlepaper.com)

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Omoyele is a young, vibrant undergraduate of Law. Yele is a poet, whose poems reads like that of a Sage, despite her young age. Her command of English is impeccable. During leisure, her pen knows no scope.