Diatribe ' I AM SORRY ,IT WASN'T MY INTENTION TO KILL HER '

I loved her sacred lips as berries,
she ripped heads of my hungry bed ,
neither a borrower or lender of love ,
of course fine words butter no parsnips.
She saw the echoes of truth and light as creation,
when I spat or spoke saw my Ananias.

Now she cries like the broken one ,
does she know I am the forgotten cupboard as Croseous past ?
All I wanted her to see...
Oaks aren't felled at single strokes ,
sober judges live longer than currencies.
Just love but more of patience,
I was coming Homs for my inborn child ,
burning as hell in Kenya and Ghana for our livelihood.

Yet she killed the breath of herself ,
with my successor ,child ...
I am sorry ,
it wasn't my intention to kill her .

Ajakaye Rashidat Olamidayo.

The poet personae of this piece tells her reader how love for materialism makes her lover kill herself and their unborn child. She works hard for their upkeep but impatience leads her lover to suicide.