In a moment, my world is crumbling.
Drowning in horrible dreams.
They said they found red clothes hidden under the Tree.
Some bad sign.
In Sister’s dreams ,I was clutching the clothes and calling her name.
Dream again, I say.
I whisper my confusion to Mother who betrays.
Who cuts my hair in tears and packs the pieces to a hidden corner.
I am dragged to kneel and talk, to confess.
Dad’s cheeks are fallen, his raspy voice is over the phone.
Over my head, over my soul that swirls into nothingness.
“Pastor, the other twin. Prayers…”
I am sucking in the air for salvation, nodding to invisible hope.
The Pastor is here to save and starts with the oil that I don’t need.
My head is already slippery with evil spirits.
I am dizzy and nauseous.
I fall heavily, shaking in fits.
I surprise myself, I with the indifferent cloud.
Me who religion could not pinch, not when my twin died.
Not when I saw graves opened in visions.
Not when I saw Mother mourning in black, in an open space.
Begging my twin to return.
But I bleed now, crying a flood.
The Holy book is pushed into my eyes, and I see Mary weeping with me.
Wringing her hands.
In a distance, somewhere…
my mind is playing the songs from childhood.
I double up in pain.
My hair, cut. My drums, torn.
But Pastor whispers how this must be done again.
How unrepentant I am.
What the actual hell?
I love it. I kept getting concerned through the poem. Till the last line. Felt so different from the rest of the poem but needed for me cause I was taken away from the initial tension to actually asking what’s wrong with the people doing this..what the actually hell?
The last line was so needed 😂
It sums it up, like what is the problem?!
Thank you for reading, Zinma.
I wish I could give answer(s) to this but I found none in my head, mind or heart. I will let it sly.
After reading every of your piece particularly the last two, I am often paused to imagine where you get inspired from or what your muse may be. Your recent use is antithetical expression is a different kind of complexity one that can only be described by your last line “what the hell”
Nice one Debs, thanks for holding us spell bound in your own conundrums lol!!!
Thank you Martins for this lovely comment. People like you fuel my passion💞
Thank you !
I like the ending, Deb.
That Pastor sef,
U suppose knock am twice…😅😂😅
Pastor that I have finished flogging sef 😂
Thank you Toby!
Hmm so deep..girl I love the ending.
Thank you Oluchi. I’m glad you loved it 😄
Keep writing,don’t you ever stop
I won’t. Not today, not now, not ever…
Thank you!
Like seriously, “what the actual hell?”
You climaxed and then just just cut the flow.
I was actually expecting to read more verses.
It’s beautiful dear.
Thank you Danny boy. Thank you for always always reading💞
the colours on the canvas kindle nostalgia… Fine lines