wife, not a drum

Hey husband
I know we have drums in Africa
Go buy yourself a drum
It’s made to be beaten
But even then with rhythm
tired of your battering
Tired of wailing screaming running
The silence the lies
To protect my once lover
Now turned adversary
Father of my children
Who cower in fear
At the sound of your voice
A symbol of terror not protection
Whispers follow my back
You have a seat at the village square
But no name in your own home
Go buy yourself a drum for I
Shall not be battered into submission
I respect the man I married
Not the violent being that now
Dwells in your body and
Occupies your space
Bring back my husband
Free yourself and redeem us all
This is not a battlefield
But a home

(c) Alexandra Kukunda 2015

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