DRIPS by Favour Uket

Drips

Drips. Drops.
Taps of scarlet
flow from the trenches
across your forearm,
within which your battles
are fought.
You have turned your skin
into a log and have become
a carpenter, sawing back
and forth.
Ah! There it is:
the distress-delight.
You’d rather dance to its
complex tunes
than fight to live.
Perhaps it is satisfaction
to drown when you were
never breathing.


ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Uket Favour is a student of English in the university of Abuja. She writes poems and is currently learning to play the violin. She loves music.

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