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Butterfly Burning by Mapule Mohulatsi

Poetry Potion | Jul 18th, 2014 | current issue, poetry | No Comments

Poem

I am a butterfly burning.
My wings are strangely stitched, tattered at the corners and hard to breathe
My weight is of a flying feather fluttering to be painted in landscapes.
Burning,
Wounded.
A butterfly burning in the bloodied heat of a collectors bloodied feet.
My wings are stitched to satanic holes incessantly stuttering prayers to zenith concubines and heavenly sighs that have been smothering in Satoa’s Sun.
I am Idemili’s Daughter
I am Brightly coloured and beautiful with painted lips.
When you paint of me, you’ll see me.
You’ll put light into the crescendo of my fluttering heights;
Resplendent and iridescent, my eyes are woven with the tales of sages
Centuries have outlived themselves screaming of the seams tying me to a satanic pits.
When men see me they hover and wait
Stutter and wish to whisper
To touch
In the abyss of my consciousness.

Poet Bio

Mapule Mohulatsi is a writer, teacher, performance poet, daughter and a Zenith Concubine.

 

this article was published in our print quarterly number six, Poems For Freedom.

READ online in our Quarterly Archive.

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