Her thighs a pillow, soft against my head
Warm within my mind, now burning like leaves
The life I drank so deep, kept so well fed
Has swallowed from my son the air he breath’d.
The scapegoat, from my land I claim’d he cleav’d
Me from my duty I lived to fulfill
Yet not the burden heaven is bereav’d
Nor my own son by whose hands I have kill’d
The blood that ne’er could have been mine to spill
Has now been shed for clothes it cannot fit
While you wander lost ‘midst the cursed hills
Waiting for this graceless fool caked with shit
Apologies, Lord, from you I’ve depriv’d
By his chain, your Horseman will soon arrive.
Reflection
Citations:
“Sonnet.” Poets.Org, Academy of American Poets, 6 Oct. 2023, poets.org/glossary/sonnet.
Akinola, Temilorun. “From Life to Death: Death and Dying Beliefs from Yoruba.” Process, http://www.processjmus.org/temilorun-akinola-from-life-to-death. Accessed 23 Oct. 2023.
Yancy, George. “Death Has Many Names.” The New York Times, The New York Times, 14 Feb. 2021, http://www.nytimes.com/2021/02/14/opinion/Yoruba-religion-death.html.
Soyinka, Wole. Death and the King’s Horseman: A Play, Turtleback Books, 2002, pp. 76.
Sprockets and Springes 