I looked at the mirror again,
But this time I saw broken image
Image so battered and shattered,
Image of a man eaten up by voracious wild animals.
I tried to laugh but my heart ached
From the venomous words hidden in it for years
I tried to smile but my lips were broken
From the fierce harmattan
That has ravaged my succulent lips.
I tried a cough, but got choked
By the hateful words that had already seized my vocal cords
I tried to run but got held back by the fearful cries of those innocent bloods.
And like Jesus, I cried blood and not tears
When I remembered the 20 years wasted scribbling pen on papers
Just to lay hold on a tomorrow that never came.
Regret like arrow pierced my soul,
When I remembered how I sold my conscience at the poll
To crocodiles who lived in water
But still wanted to eat the fat of the land.
Then the memories of her grew in me like turmor
Pains of the strength I left inside her,
Those days when we read moonlight plays on her bed.
Strength I should have used to repair this broken image
But strength I have lost to a jealous lover—HIV/AIDS.
I fell back in despair because here was I,
A broken image originally made in the image of my maker
But lost touch when the bewitchment of her make-up was more enchanting than the promises of my maker.
But soon I shall meet my maker
And one question I know he must ask:
Who broke this image?