Thursday, January 26, 2012


It was a night
One did not want it to be night,
No light was put out
Other rooms were kept out,
As if they hid someone
Waiting to pounce upon one,
The bedroom door remained shut
With wary eyes trained on it, but
Something still stood on the other side
In no hurry at all, willing to bide,
The sacred ash on the forehead
Did little to lessen the dread
Of the dark one
Fond of the one-on-one,
It was puberty time all over again
Bar the broom, pestle and pain.

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