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By Hannah Edeki

Friday, February 26, 2010.


The tremor stifles your large feet;

You are levitating, now you are flying high

But it’s all in your zany imagination

Along with the silvery blue wings on your back and the angelic halo

That makes you a martyr,

Like the porcelain saint

With the wicked smiley eyes

That darted across his mantelpiece

Landing on the floor as mere dust,

That you cried for days like his first child

With the floppy head and glazed eyes,

 Too weak to drain your heavy breasts.

Death struck him as an unwanted decree,

You mourn over shattered pieces

In shades of dust,

Geometric shapes that perforate

Thin air in pursuit of your mind,

You retreat to angular corners with your spirit in your pocket.


Sorrow has aged you

Into perishable fruit

Too bitter to savour,

Too ugly to touch.

It is buried in the furrows on your face

Laced across sagging breasts that no child has sucked

Thick lines defined in unwanted places

Eyes the colour of roasted almonds on a frosty day.

You hear his voice,

The smell of dung

Enveloping you like a sweet lullaby that lulls you to sleep

Collapsed in his arms

Like a broken doll

At rest with each stroke

Caressing your arms till red roses come forth

Intoxicating your dulled senses with promises

Packaged with blood; your blood.

You are levitating, now you are flying high

Away from blind arrows that pierce your heart

But it’s all in your zany imagination.


Hannah Edeki is an emerging poet and writer living in the United Kingdom.



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