In your scented garden
You left many flowers
Maybe for your precious lavenders
Maybe to heal foul scents
Maybe to sooth the thirst of precious birds in their prime
Maybe to multiply and beautify the land
But the harvesters of scents have been harvesting the nectar
Before they blossom to bless the temples of noses
II
The lavender harvesters now sit
Looking for perfected flowers to work with
And realize they are all scentless
Yet they stand tall
Their egos hanging as their badges of honour
Claiming no knowledge of the disaster
While stepping on the dead pride of all your fallen flowers
Whose teeth of thorns roar voiceless
In the death of their pride
Where are the eyes you left in watch?
III
How legs meant to protect have turned bees
Fetching nectars through unformed hymens
Beats my imagination
How those same pretentious legs
Search for full and ripe nectars to crown their egos
Sits on the thoughts of my mind
How you, who sees it all, stand the pretention
Now acts like a dog, chasing the meat in my head
IV
Your garden now reeks of filth
Your flowers turned mere weeds
Calling for your hoes even in fear of death
What kind of farmer at thou?
Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia ©September 30, 2017