There is a gathering
A happy gathering of mockers
A happy gathering of the affluent
Under the bright moon with the soft flattering air.
In their midst is a borne fire
Covered with wires holding hands and embracing the heat.
On this struggling wire lies the meat praying to be free of pain.
The meat wails as it is being turned snaked on the rods of words
Words that walked out the mouths of the gods
The gods of its kind
The gods who are mere mortals
The gods made by its kind
The gods gathered, watching, laughing and waiting
To devour their prey in mock horror
In big clothes bought by deeds that deserve this fire
The meat bleeds of oil that increases the sharpness of its cook
The meat bleeds of years of hard work that drains into the pockets of the gathered
The meat bleeds of the sin- turned- righteous.
Maybe, just maybe, the meat wishes to have joined
In the barbarity which when covered in blood, power, honour and lordly handshakes
Puts one on the peak of affluence
Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © 2014.
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