A broken arm, a packet of wheat and a kilo of meat
all that an evening of commotion bought,
a day in between a day, to be used as a tool
nothing goes to waste, even a calamity
can help draw attention to conjure a win
a few pieces of silver is all it took,
to marshal a pregnant crowd
the voice of the people is the voice of God
yet mere deviants rule these meek souls,
better to be a cog in the wheel
than be trampled by it, he smirked
surrounded by red earth-stained shoes,
an awakened primal predatory scent
courses through the crowd,
sweat underneath his brow
the scorching sun above his temple
lost in a misplaced discount-priced rage
yelling, shouting, for the well-dressed and well-fed
Some find her majestic, others cower in
her presence, but always hushed tones linger
everywhere she goes
cloaked in a calm demeanor, yet behind
those black obsidian pupils hide dangerous
intent, laced with a soft voice, head wrapped
in a dark cloth, to cover the dark thoughts she
plots for her foes who tingle her web of lies
itching ever closer through her strings
a comfortable abode from within her being
when she needs new grooves, she simply
eats from previous thread while discarding
the hollowed-out shells of her victims
always clean, always pristine
her bite is clinical, the death she brings
apocalyptic, leaving everyone in grief,
sing her praises or chastise her for her deeds
she will undauntedly remain, a mysterious,
dangerous,
red queen!
Marcel Aduda is a Kenyan artist, writer and poet. He writes using the best techniques of these three fields to weave pieces that break apart and come together like a beautiful collage. Ever searching for new ways to paint pictures in people’s minds.
