Agatha
Agatha was an ocean
In whose salty solitude fishes won’t survive
neither did her tranquil shores desire company
Her soothing breeze was a
Sorrowful emission of stretched sigh
and an outburst of jeopardy
But oceans are beautiful even in storms
She continued to glow in a coal mine
Bragging of mornings and love songs
Of parties and candle sauce
Of candles and glittering sights
To her inward detriment and anguish
Were unparaded occupants
For she was an apparatus
Romanced by a wimp,
Wiping her into a design
Of shameful matrimony
where each day begins with laying of curses
On her amalgamation day
Yet sips her steaming cup of silence
to avert societal pokes but her stinking corpse spoke
And death did them apart.
Read Also: The Moon That Never Bloomed, A Poem By Okoli Stephen Nonso
Contributor’s Bio
Uchendu Njionye is an Art and Media Enthusiast, winner of the
Pengician Chapbook Prize 2020. He currently lives and writes from an empty room in the outskirt of Aba, Abia.