Journey of A Wounded Soul

He sent me packing with nothing but the clothes I was wearing,
Barefooted I took to the streets with no idea of where I was going,
I was being led by my wounded soul,
On a journey that had no goal.

The soles of my feet with blisters and calluses,
My toes swollen and pale due to the heat of the dessert sand,
Dark circles embracing my teary eyes,
An ancestral drum beating in my head because of the anger, heat and noisy hawks,
My eccrine sweat glands working over time,
Sticky, salty tasting skin,
A strong ancient odour reeking of death all around me,
A deep thirst, so deep it felt like satan himself had a pot scourer, violently scouring the inside of my throat,
Exhaustion creeping in,
Dehydration was taking over,
A heart torn apart; heartbreak a reality,
What was declared as one before men and God, divided!

My wounded soul led me to my death bed,
My body succumbed to the angel of death and gave in,
My journey finally had a goal;
That of death!!

May the ancestors of have mercy on my confused husband’s soul,
He chased me away for I had failed to give him children of his own,
He put in motion ‘the journey of a wounded soul that finally had a goal’

Creative Commons License
This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 3.0 Unported License.
Posted with WordPress for BlackBerry.


About tshauambea

I am a lover of poetry and nature; a writer and aspiring photographer. View all posts by tshauambea

8 responses to “Journey of A Wounded Soul

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