Poetry

Obiwu

Okigbo’s Anamorphosis

I battered a king-sized cockroach

And its white blood splattered on my left big toe;

Did he who cut and crushed a young tendril

Also deny it the burial of the earth?

Who wept for the snuffed life of the cockroach, but I?

Who mourned for the forced death of the tendril, but I?

I, who am the remains of our sordid past;

I, in my piteous state;

- And the blasted stains on my foot!

     Obiwu

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