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POETRY

THE HUNT

It promised to be fun
The hunt
I dreamt of games
I dreamt of tames
I dreamt of antelopes swift and lame
I dreamt of moons
Leading with light
I dreamt of victory none the same
Then I threw my arrow
It hit the marrow
Looked like a narrow catch
As I waited for my antelope
If less, my rabbit
A lion came with vengeance
It looked at me
With eyes of the wounded
And held my soul captive
Branding my meat abominable
Gifting me to rot as slow as a sick snail
And thus it was
That the hunter turned hunted
Wishing for her own meat to end her misery
Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2016

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By amoafowaa

Just a simple Ghanaian trying to find the best in our society. I may be fun, I may be interesting, I may be funny, I may even be foolish or intelligent, but it is all based on the mood in which you find yourself. I believe our minds make us who we are. Know that, pain, no matter its 'unbearability', is transient. Unburden or delight yourself for a while in my writings please. And all corrections, advice and opinions are welcome. Know that you are the king, queen or royal on this blog. :)

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