One word, three syllables

It’s the roar of a lion, mouth bloodied, stomach fat with chewed up bits of prey

It’s the smell of dried blood on its victim, all rotten, nigh on black with decay

It’s the chaos in the aftermath of a huge pile-up, now comes the traffic then another RTA*

It’s the taste of bitterness, of self-destruction, of rage, of being in a cage

It’s the bristles of a hedgehog on the bare feet of an infant at play

 

It’s that vicious gust of wind, the teeth which bite on a merciless winter’s day

It’s that heart-stopping knock at the door, that sudden apparition, no hope, no chance of escape

It’s as invisible as a dream and as real as some dreams feel

It’s as bold as a warrior, like David, toe to toe with Goliath

It’s the sound of the key unlocking the door of buried memories

It’s the smell of  boiled tripe, suspended, like clouds hanging in the air

It’s the crackle of wood at the heart of a flaming  red fire

 

It the sight of a stubborn mule which won’t move, it’s right hoof saying no way, here i’ll stay

It’s the seeds of a scotch bonnet pepper drilling a hole right through the centre of your tongue

It’s the thief, the invader waiting and watching, ever lurking, shielded by shadows

 

It’s one word, three syllables

It’s pressing down, it’s suffocating me.

That one word with three syllables keeps pressing down on me.

 

*RTA: Road Traffic Accident

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