HATRED AND HOPE

Branded roses
Blood is your dance floor
Beast is the yeast of your flour
Your moist garden is the handle of my door
And your soup is dour.

I saw a stranger, dressed in black,
Quietly step back from your door –
I saw you, a black bird in grey skies
Flapping, rising
Hatred flaming in your chest like
A torn rose.

Yet I kissed you, don’t
Ask me why – your lips parted and I tasted
Hope on your tongue
Like a squirrel hiding in the bush.

– Che Chidi Chukwumerije.

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