by Glory Godwin.
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Life — they say — has its benefits, launch at it however u deem fit.
Take a dive, a run, even a kick, for it is ever worth the risk.
Not anymore, for now I want to recant this.
Life herself has lost her life
She has unwillingly become so cruel, no one knows what to do.
Her fruits have gone sour, her breasts are no more tender.
Heavy with burden with her milk poisoned.
She has become barren, except for the pain she births.
Her children die even while it rains.
She tries to gather, the more they scatter.
Her war cries have become whispers.
Once a warrior, now so frail; the wailing of her babies breaking her already broken pieces.
Torrent of tears in all her paces, yet hope and help has lost their faces.
She had gone to bury her dead, but promised it’s not over yet.
"I’ll come back with help" was all she said.
Although, it’s been decades since she left, one thing remains;
Life will find her life again.
