Blood Birth Poem by Nancy Ilamwenya

Drive a needle through my eyes; I do not want to see,
Break my eardrums; I do not want to hear,
Cut my tongue, I do not want to speak,
Burn my skin; I do not want to feel,
A spirit stranded,
Stranded in a living dead body
Bashing itself on bloody dry bones,
Crying out for a freedom,
“Let me go, I pray, let me go.
Do not leave me here alone.
The cold is burning,
The silence is deafening
The loneliness is engaging,
And the darkness of death is lightened
Am walking towards the light.”
What to do?
Blood birth
It is raining blood,
Hands outstretched in submission, knees drenched in the bath,
Face looking up to the gods, savoring the saltiness of the red liquid,
Thoughts whirling in bloody visions, of bleeding fingers and mouths and noses and eyes.
Of bleeding humanity, a humanity gasping for dear breath, running out of dear blood,
Ripped off its sanctified garment, adorned in a bloody irredeemable dishonor.
Struggling to hide its nakedness, in view of ravenous gawks.
And she is still submerged in the blood birth, trying to reach for dry land.