she grows with groans,
of what septuagenarian long fit
did to her throat.
no one listens to her,
not even me seems to see,
her frail, tiny cries- under torture,
of riddles an aged man drops
into the silence of a girl's mind.
we are all deaf,
to the silence-noise of guilt
that lure into the treasure,
of seven years old, a girl
where baba gets gift of pleasure.
one day,
that girl will grow
and throw off shackles,
boil and braid to be her mind.
one day
that girl will grow
and raise a nation,
on her fragile but built laps.
one day, a girlchild will garner
her heart and build a world
on her hands that weaves now
on her head that hawks now
with her stolen face, under a
broken night.
at her feet, we will call growth,
a god.
Oluwaseun Shedrack Akodu
International day of girlchild.
