The Woman of Samaria

By Shitta Faruq Adémólá

joy is when a knife escapes the breath of a

panting pupil – Pallid – puked in peppers.

to be a man is to

man the murky milk of muted maims

& try building boulders with back

legs in beaches.

to not be a man is not be a man


how far does a wound sink in

deepness? drugged daggered daggers poised

a wound is a boy battered by bruises

in Babylon – Israelites in shackles – no Moses.

Nigeria, a Niger that noses in nefarious

nods – Nebuchadnezzar’s nests.

girl kissed by windowpanes wines, winnows

from the width of wideness. Why?

we, like the pronoun used by the God of the

Quran, they – us, all, you, me, i,

meaning we forgot to attend to the pot on fire

grandma cooks: a broom guarded by a black

belt – a song composed with fine lyrics

& a hand hounding hollow brokenness. now the

pot is a blackness of hurts / hots – ness.

“a river is always stupid to remember its source,

a red oil, as they say, owes the

iron gods a food. a brother does not

point spears to his brother. a cam wood

in hunger does not eat its maker as a lion

does not eat its wife.

The Samaritan woman

is a witch of warmheartedness”. grandma says

as the moon radiates its boom. 

About the Author

Shitta Faruq Adémólá is a late teen Nigerian Poet and Writer that is thinking of carrying the world into Noah’s ark one day. Say hi @shittafaruqademola.

Copyright© 2020 by Shitta Faruq Adémólá

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