Hindsight On How It Used To Be
 
I am carrying our baby,
The fruit of our passion
Under old baobab of my fathers.
 
You now walk away from me,
Not repeating those sweet words,
Not touching my skin with tenderness,
Not looking my way any more.
 
You knew our love was a scandal
But you slept with me any way.
My womb is alive with the life of a baby
Whose father does not care.
 
Love has deceived me, youth
Had led me on this con.
I thought words defined a man
Until action showed his face.
 
I am carrying your baby,
The seed of your unction
Merging with sweet waters.
 
My mind is full of how it used to be,
Not counting pain’s sharp swords,
Not telling this cold ruthlessness,
Not saying how it hurts to my core.
 
I am now discarded, an old sandal.
My work was done, you walked away.
My heart questioned why, hoping maybe,
Maybe you will still care.
 
But I am made bold by hurt, uncouth
By soft lies, my babble is on
For my falling for you was a plan
Hatched in your mindspace.
 
I am carrying my baby,
The sum of my impulsion,
A love left in tatters.
 
I consider our affair a rape
Of my innermost trust.
You beguiled my innocence,
Charmed my youth.
You made my world a garden
Of your promises
With nothing to show
At harvest time.
 
Those kisses were nothing but lip
On lip, prelude to intercourse
Without a cause or future---
My heart is about to rapture.
 
I have been a fool with my heart,
I gave myself to shallowness.
This lesson scorches my very psyche:
It would be hard to love a man.