Tears, tears I cannot c­­ry

yet tears, tears that cannot dry

burst my heart, my broken cistern

and paint my mind with an eternal stain

When, when can I feel the rain?

Can it really wash off this stain?

When can my sorrows go down the drain?

When can I be free from this disdain?

An angel, an angel touched me

he choked my innocence, my pure thoughts

if I dare say that a devil he be,

the world will kill me with its words

Uncle! uncle!! uncle!!!

will I truly die if I tell,

the whole world the tiny detail,

of what happens in that cubicle?

That scar I got, in your car,

the one you feel is healed,

is there, engraved with steel

on my heart, my broken jar.

I dart like a lizard trapped in the rain,

fighting powers and living in pain

shielding my face from your shame

lest the world blame your sins on my name.

The dusk is gone; the sun has risen

yet gloom covers the horizon

The unspoken words of the me-like child

will bleak this world, this civilized Wild.

(For the victims of child sexual abuse. Appalled by a society that is increasingly tolerating this horrible crime as perpetuators are walking free.)Horizons, rendered by an OMA Professional pupil in Lagos, August 2021

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