Our Withering Flowers By: Olusegun Omotosho

Our Withering Flowers
By: Olusegun Omotosho

 I see flowers
Dropping like rain
Mudding the streets
Where passers-by thread in disgust

They are flowers  in their beauties
Of adorable sizes, shapes, colours and scents
Dieing off their trees
That the summer had treated them to
Before the arrival of the winter
Who would have blossomed them before admirers

I behold maidens, who are not meant
To be maids, who give their meats
To past and dieing generation
But mother of nations.
See them, murdering their help meet

Our supposed brides
Have  been priced into  premature mothers.
Our Pride and Flowers
Opened up their stomata
For aged pollinating insects
To wine on for situational pleasure
A pressure from our shameless fathers

The milk meant for the children
Have been made into a 'kunu drink'
Toasted to quench the thirst of the insatiable folly
Whose desires for the
 maidens two breads
Are to eat till unsatisfactory
As they compete with their lads for meats.
How sweet is this?

Where art thou shame?
Sugar daddies
Who hath fused bitterness
Into the opening of our deceived ladies
When singing 'ouch'  on the forbidden couch

And to you soil of our nation
How do you feel being dig by these rusted hoe
Tilling you deep to loot your lots
How satisfying does the blunt machetes plum
That you eat from your mother's meat

What should become of you,
That lay with your fathers?
The semen that made you be
The men you crave to taste; for whatsoever

You soar is sour
These fools, is this not distasteful?
Fathers stealing meats from sons
Daughters, breads from their mothers.

Let sanity kill this insanity
And peace should be made
Between these displeasure and pleasure
That the pressure of illicit sex had brought, upon the society.

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