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Agatha was an ocean
In whose salty solitude fishes won’t survive
nor does her tranquil shores desire company
Her soothing breeze are Sorrowful emission
of stretched sigh and outburst jeopardy
But oceans are beautiful even in storms
She remain glowing in a coal mine
Bragging of mornings and love songs
Of parties and candle sauce
Of candles and glittering sights
but inwardly detriment and anguish
Are unparaded occupants
For she is an apparatus
Romanced by a wimp
Wiping her into a design
For dorty-mony where
each day begins with laying of curses
On her amalgamation day
Yet sips her stirring cup of silence
to avert societal pokes
but her stinking corpse spoke
And death did them apart.

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Uchendu Njionye is an Art and Media Enthusiast, winner of the Pengician Chapbook Prize 2020. He currently lives and writes from an empty room in the outskirt of Aba, Abia


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