Wages Of Sin. Poem by Thabani Khumalo

Wages Of Sin.



I've always known that,
even if I have eaten enough
to get my belly full with fatty foods -
fat enough to make me forget all my previous pain,
I shouldn't walk to Phase five against the night.

Though I didn't get the vocabulary of the place
to echo into the deepening diction of my semantic soul,
I did hear the oversized ghosts of the land say
they were ready to start walking backwards.

It came to the tenth hour of ghastly freedom while
an infatuated man stood at a dark and distant corner
with a girl he obsesses enough about to suppose he adores.

So they started walking backwards
and pulled their sharp blades off the sheath,
when the scared people were calm and quietly spaced...
they went on and caused many to bleed.

It became a very condemning picture to behold.
It was free of guilt and simple to regret,
it was ridden by death and filled with the wages of sin.

Tuesday, December 17, 2019
Topic(s) of this poem: freedom
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