Live

Be at peace, beautiful woman of woe, You have carried the world on your back, You stood tall on wounded spine, Your blood now an adornment, No…a testament. You are a warrior, But the war is over. Be at peace, beautiful mother of woe. You have made your bed in a field of thorns, Therein, you buried sons and mourned daughters. Ogini? You have cried enough. Look up, strong woman. New life buds within you. Do not let this one bury you. Be at peace, omalicha. You have not known the comfort of love, You have not experienced the purity of its pain, It is a different kind of pain. But it is good. Look, your suitor stands proud at your gate. His lofty shoulders are yours to rest on. Go to him, Nne. Receive the love you deserve. You have died enough. Did the good book not say “double for your sins?” Now, live.