Sisi Eko, these elegant strides of yours that boys describe as killing, is now beginning to kill you
You and I know, that it is only men with eyes between their legs that hail you
You wear heels to cover your heels but your ills some of us still see.
Sisi Eko, your luscious lips that heaven designed to look like the shape of heart is now lusting after vipers, whose venom strike you, like a dart.
And when your lips meet theirs, all they do is call you names; sexy and hot!
Of a truth, that’s all there is to you.
Song of Solomon would have been the only book of the Bible if Solomon had set his eyes on this two oranges, well placed on your chest.
He would never have stopped talking about them, but now, food for the children is being given to dogs, that squeeze and suck and scratch and hurt.
Sisi Eko, you’ve got cash at hand and cash in the bank but all that cash as given you is the title “sugar mum” by the boys whose diapers you change and groceries you buy.
Sisi Eko, no amount of foundation or concealer will conceal the faulty foundation you’ve laid
Long lashes and nails, scrubs and all
Time will tell.
At forty, you have nothing but memories of escapades
No children to raise eyebrows at
No child to pinch like mama did to you at outings.
Sisi Eko, pick a pen, rewrite this script!