When a queen flees
It is not for lack of wealth
Her stool might be a hell of fire
Though it digs jealousies in damsels
Her crown might have pinning pins or thorning thorns
Although it hunts greed in ladies
Her robes might house termites
Or soul’s small poxes,
Even though it looks devine in refinement,
Killing her soul ten times a second
Her bed might have bells like noise of guinea fowls
Angered by fear
Never mind the dreams and fantasies it spurns
Her heels might house fingers of intruding nails
Aiming always for her veins
Despite throwing beauties in confidence
Her ornaments might shine in the sun
But may be claws in the dark
What chases might be invisible
To bystanders
When a queen flees
She is not to be pitied
As her dragons that chase
Might be fiercer than that
Of fused thousand spirits of poverty
Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2016

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