Skip to main content

Sweet Sin - Stefn Sylvester Anyatonwu


POEM 105: SWEET SIN

I think I've seen the devil
He's a fine lady in red.
I know I shouldn't return the smiles
but look, she's got no fork tail
though all black like devil in folktales
There's dark beauty in her black
There's magic in her smiles
And I'm smitten.
There's a smirk on her face
this lady across the lane
She smiles and then waves
I don't know, but I did same.
Sweet temptation this is
but there's no hell in her eyes;
Why not dive and get a ride?

This is the plight of most Christians
when the fruit dazzling dangles
mesmerizing our holy minds
with allures only heaven can match...
It hisses, 'hey just a bite'
A bite will feel like bliss:
There's grace, heaven we won't miss.
We know this sin is sin
But oh, dear Lord, look how 'tis sweet!
We know the father frowns at it
but flesh and blood, the weakling
subdues the spirit's whisper...
And forward we lurch
We pluck and munch
Relish the taste and moan along...
Then cringe in pain
And pray for grace
When our innards churn
And the serpent rage.

I think I've seen the devil
I kissed her lying luscious lips.
It did taste great
But I'm fallen from grace
My soul's on fire
Hell was in her eyes.

- Stefn Sylvester Anyatonwu
#365DaysOfPoetry
#Pengician
#SSA

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Fiction | The Tripod Effect

THE TRIPOD EFFECT The Smiths were unable to conceive children and decided to use a surrogate father to start their family. On the day the surrogate father was to arrive, Mr. Smith kissed his wife and said, "I'm off. The man should be here soon" Half an hour later, just by chance a door- to-door baby photographer rang the doorbell, hoping to make a sale.  "Good morning, madam. I've come to...." "Oh, no need to explain. I've been expecting you," Mrs. Smith cut in. "Really?" the photographer asked. "Well, good. I've made a speciality of babies"  "That's what my husband and I had hoped. Please come in and have a seat"  After a moment, she asked, blushing, "Well, where do we start?"  "Leave everything to me. I usually try two in the bathtub, one on the couch and perhaps a couple on the bed. Sometimes the living room floor is fun too; you can really spread out!" "Bathtub, living room floo...

The Curve And Colors Of Hate | Uwen Precious Ogban

The Curve And Colors Of Hate When the evening news had broken Father spoke with a tone of pain and anger “Nigeria is a whore,” And my mother agreed Painting sensual scenes giving you pleasure of what looks like a garden that hides a landmine. And how trying to walk through it becomes slippery A journey asking for crimson libations, full of fractures and ‘Had I knowns’ while you looked over the fence for greener  pastures Her sighs spoke of a menu full of thrills but you are served double horrors She, Nigeria, abhors you later on when it relinquishes you of value, Truly, she is an old ‘Whore’ My Father picked it from there, “Nigeria gets hard as rock” Wants of men despised Sullen moods recorded in poems, speeches, and events, snubbed For as long as it makes sultry suplex’s on a comfortable ring – Nigeria is satisfied “Son, Nigeria is you, your mum and I” Guilty to a fault Pained by happenings that come with fire and brimstone Let loose from bellies that should hold  patriotis...

Featured Poem: Slavery In Africa - by Uwen Precious Ogban

SLAVERY IN AFRICA We believe they rowed their boats of tumults into our region; carrying with them bags of conundrums, while we drummed our drums and jollied to their, intonation. The way they dressed, the way they addressed us Made us mime to the harmony and yearns in their speeches of a dawn to civility and hale: that was a start of the course of slavery in Africa. We still thought they were our brothers, because our chiefs rolled floridly with their proposals While we were mockingly disposed of In the field, or given to bespoken tailors as apprehends; as helps; in servitude; ‘posed to carry out orders as the come in flicks. We became babies in our own motherland we became cartage of their foreign plans. We cleared our huts so that they could find comfy and build on our strengths draining our tears as they wryly whipped us on our backs. Their wisdom their prowess They used to molest And we gazed in cluelessness Cause we still didn’t see it as slavery then – but as pain, so enjoyable....