“The whimpering maiden”

I reached for you but you’re no longer home
the night has swallowed your silhouettes
the world lined your head into a new headline

Perhaps the law cheated you
perhaps the world was just in a haste to raise a new hashtag;
a new mantra
with the petals of your blood
that was plucked right in front of God

A man said to me,
you were wrong for burning candles in the church
says it was God’s anger that swallowed your hymen

His mouth appeared to quiver
when he noticed how easily he placed
religion beyond your breath,
he tried to festoon his blunder.

A girl’s body they say is a decoy you died ’cause a man fell for yours
you died ’cause his sins killed you
you died ’cause you’re the land bearing his burns
you died ’cause you’re an ornament crumpled
into a trunk

Now I understand why a girl
is a refugee camp
for the untanned urge of men
for the uncircumcised thirst of men

A virtuous girl, you are
an enjambment of collateral
they see.

“Leaflet for the broken hymens”

I creased clear contours on palms
For you to heed
Clear contours to steer you
Through your crusade across the
Municipality sited on the body of girls—
A holy
Borough
Welcoming noble pilgrims.

And what is an apotheosis? Is it not tying acclaims to the souvenir of kindness?
The kind of mercy we can never return?
A girl’s body is a holy temple,
Her body is a sacred altar—
Proceed & worship
Only when you’re permitted to,
Only when it’s open to you.

A girl is a rainbow, a girl is a catalog of color spectrums
A girl is a fragile bud, a girl is a petal
Girls—
The confluence of
A million dreams
Piled up into pretty figurines,
Their consent is a tone of worship
Boys should always heed.

“Green spectrums”

The dilemma with being a Nigerian
is that you’re an unusual survivor in a strange place
passing through weird handover

The country is green but we’re still pale,
perhaps, that’s the tertiary mixture
from little white and too much green

Perhaps, it’s just our weird way of remaining patriotic,
whichever way, we’re still faithful patriots

We transcend into a myriad of barren hope. a pale stature
child sings into the refrain of this allegiance, faithfulness
believing in owning his tomorrow green

You groaned for the child
’cause soon he will understand what
tattooed hardship in the palms of his father

His pledge will be so good, so pretty if this place
still holds tight to its end of this devotion

Your teary smile appeared as though
you’re mocking the boy
whose tributaries of hope root into his country

But you’re not,
you’re simply celebrating his innocence

A cloudburst of lilies in a desert,
it will die soon,
this place will steal it from him,
this place swallows his hope

Biography

Nwuguru Chidiebere Sullivan is a budding writer from the Ebonyi State of Nigeria. He writes autobiographically about life and about multiple aspects of the ebbing African culture. He is a penultimate Medical Laboratory Science student with lots of unpublished works to his credit. His works have been published at Quills, Ace World, Trouvaille Review, Duccor Review, The Lake, LiteLitOne, Inverse Journal, The SprinNG, e.t.c. and he has also contributed to several anthologies. He was the winner of the 2018 FUNAI Crew Literary Contest.