Posted in Prose, Stories


She was only thirteen,

Yet she cheerfully helped her mum in their little canteen,

She looked pale, scrawny, fragile and thin,

And from her look you would doubt she was already a teen,


She was full of Life,

Even when working or chopping with a knife,

Her nights were usually filled with worry and strife,

Yet she constantly dreamt that one day she will be a wife,


It was time for her usual afternoon hawking,

Rice and beans at noon she was usually selling,

Through the streets and market she was always plying,

Just to help with the burden her mother alone was carrying,


Suddenly she heard a frightful loud bang,

A surge of pain like the strike of a cobra’s fang,

Her whole body seared and writhed with great pang,

While from a distance an unattended cell phone continuously rang,


All around her corpses scattered about lying,

It was hard to breath but yet she was trying,

She was cold and numb and also crying,

And she knew right there that she was slowly dying,


She clutched to her bleeding side as she lay down,

Dust and blood covered her brightly coloured gown,

Her soul quietly slipping free and totally unbound,

As she relived fond memories of her beloved home town,


You might wonder why I haven’t yet named her,

Well that’s cos she could be anyone’s sister,

Maybe Aisha, Nnenna, Funke or Deborah,

But the painful fact is that she is now gone forever,


And just like an abruptly ended dream,

Her whole ambitions and desires were trimmed,

By our fellows wielding arms with utmost grim,

While all I could utter was a loud silent scream.



A seasoned salesman, a logistician, a lover of Literature. My ideas and stories are a product of my up bringing and social environment.

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