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And she said to me; “Tell me your story”.

I was reluctant,
as if I knew the resultant.
She was but a stranger
Though I wasn’t in a manger

I remained in my humble hut,
Worried, she came inside,she did squat
And I felt sorry.
I had to tell her my story

She promised to let it be.
Sticky as honey from the bee.
I felt my burdens lifted;
I surely aviated.

Now, I move in the streets.
I perceive the stench of dead meat.
Never did I realize,
That I was dead and putrefying.

My story was the tale
that got stale.
I had destroyed my hut;
I had lost my lodge.

I knew that would be the prize
She let my story fly,
Faraway into the earth.
My story, my hut and I, were dead!.

~Udoma, Emmanuel Isidore.
400 level.
University of Uyo Medical Students Association (UUMSA)

November 10, 2017

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