O! THOU COLD TOUCH
A cold touch brushed my head—
not loud,
but sudden enough to question my peace.
It lingered,
an unfamiliar embrace,
challenging my thoughts.
What could it be?
For a call girl...
It is that soft rounded cucumber
beckoning for her gentle bite,
whispering take me to your land?
For a student,
It\'s is that long stick,
Unyielding demanding silence or plead,
ready to restore discipline
with lessons carved in pain?
My head wrestled with the thought,
pressed against my scathed memory,
searching for what it truly was.
My heart trembled at the knowing,
at the sight of its consequence.
In my shoes,
I must have erred—
Just like a call girl, pleading for freedom
I pleaded for pardon still,
hands open,
eyes lowered,
and stood still—
behold it was what I imagined.
© Funmilayo bayo
#funmiwrites