Black Forest

Dancing its way through the crowd
Like a snake charmed by an Indian tune.
Slithering mysteriously like a wicked riddle.
Searching earnestly like a prowling lion
Seeking whom it may devour.
Gliding calmly in search of a hole to crawl into.
But it is ever so lucky. Experience.
That may be the word.It finds not one but two.
Two innocent holes don’t know what hit them.
Used to better treatment they choke helplessly.
They flare up in fear. They know the origin
Of this torture. Of how the treachery
Of the winds direct it into these parts.
Like a biased traffic warden.
They shudder in agony because they can taste it.
The stench. It meandered purposefully from there.
Over there. Where the black forest is.
The dreaded forest that is nourished
By a filthy swamp. Housed in a pit
Darker than the devil’s heart.
A pit borne by arms. This is no ordinary place.
This is a weapons-making site.
And the stench that now reclines
Snugly in these innocent holes,
These vulnerable nostrils, is that silent killer.
A most deadly weapon. Innocent nostrils on handsome faces.
They deserve better than trotro odours.


Published by: Akyempo

i met the Priest...i realised that though society seems to respect the baker and despise the shepherd, the baker is not happy despite his stability and the shepherd is free to pursue the pyramids, because he is a dreamer; and one day he will meet Fatima. I am the boy; the shepherd.

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