the beautiful one.
what did you choose to hold on to,
when they came to plunder?
was it the joy in your laughter,
the stars in your teary eyes
or the stories in your drumming heart?
Omolara, the beautiful one, when they came to take,
when they came to take,
when they came to uproot,
it seems they took it all.
Did you take a stance or
spread your thighs wide?
Was your fragility a tool for destruction
or an escape to resurrection?
We all stood at a distance watching them,
greedily and hungrily,
at your terrain of boxed complexities.
Omolara, to rewa,
did it hurt?
did it burn?
did it linger at all?