Volume Four, Issue 1

Abasiama Udom


He staked his claim,
with the bag of silver in his hand.
Pulled my chain,
yanking me closer to survey his bounty,
a good buy he must be thinking
slapping my chest, my arms, my shoulders
even as the smell of burning metal fills the air.
My heart lies dead within me.

He staked his claim,
as the metal seared my flesh
L.C it read,
I was his; claimed.
A slave bought and branded.

Purple Will Live Forever

When man with beast will leave this mortal world,
and slaves with spirits freed to roam free,
waters piling high on joy and misery,
then my friend, the purple will live forever.
Clashing with the kindness of pink,
the fertility of the green,
the peace of angelic white
purple will live forever, firece.
Purple will stand out intriguing,
calling to all plus my very lips.
The purple will live, she will forever.

Abasiama Udom: "I am a creative writer and poet. I am a part-time tutor and student with interests in matters of the afterlife, African politics, human nature and twitter."

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