The cold harmattan piercing my skin like needles
Blood coming out of my pores
I ran until my legs could not move an inch again
My captors smelled me out like blood attracts sharks in the ocean
They tear me up without mercy
They feast on me like hyenas having a bloody Party
Scavenging me brings them boundless joy
Through the sword in between their thighs, they send me to hell and back again
Their erected sword couldn’t wish for a better prey;
they have been drinking sexual herbs for days
Now they’ve proved its potency
Leaving me for dead,
They growl and roar while they find another victim.
I crawled back home with the help of a stranger
My loved one washed me and fed me
I poured oil on my head, perfumed my body and went to the temple to worship.
On my way back I became a prey to my captors again
What a bloody Sunday!
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