The early hours of Tuesday morning
saw Providence donning a dark cloak
with stars across the somber fabric
and blood running through its weft
She was majestic in all her gore-ish regalia,
off to till the earth for premature graves
This was neither intended nor planned
then again, nothing ever is
and Providence knew this as she gathered wood for early coffins
and sowed seeds for our chrysanthemums
Her tears would water the soil
that covers our graves in black roses.
Burial shrouds make for subtle foreshadows in times like these.
About the Author: Omobolanle Alashe is an emerging African writer who sees the power in words and the beauty in their expression (as dark as they may come). She juggles life as an undergraduate law student, poet and language enthusiast. Some of her work may be seen in Clumsy Spider Publishing, Tell! Africa Publishing, As It Ought To Be Magazine, OyeDrum Magazine among others. She has an anthology in the works and hopes to publish it soon.
You may contact her at firstname.lastname@example.org and @bo.la.nle_a (Instagram).
More by Omobolanle Alashe:
Image Credit: Still Life by Egon Scheile (1908) Public Domain