a child poses, behind a rifle,
an eye closed in earnest prayer,
though wars have taught him
to be a god,
to be fate;
it is how the night will pass,
his eyes, in a binocular, aiming
for the next meat to fill his bag,
for he has mastered the art
in festivities of violence.
it is in his bloodline
to puncture veins in single shots.

a man comes into space,
as a deer, unaware of hunter’s gun;
he seems sober, continental lines
outlined in his cheeks by a smile,
it is like the boy’s.
his eyes –bloodshot- has darkness
hovering over it like a lightbulb;
his body, not knowing it isn’t his,
dances to the rhythm of space,
like a butterfly floating on a lava,
like a meat dangling in a cannibal camp,
like a sacrifice to an untamed god.

the child sees a meat,
a spell awaiting breaking,
and clutches his wiry hands
in the trigger hole;
he knows blood will drop
and peace will evaporate
so he smacks,
takes air into his darkened lungs,
smells the unholy offering;
closes his other eye
like he wasn’t the god
and presses the trigger.

Orjichukwu ChikamObi Golding is currently a student of English and Literary Studies, University of Nigeria, Nsukka. He believes he has a thousand spirits in his throat, and many more in his fingers. You can always catch him talking, writing, in lonely literary websites, or on Facebook @Orjichukwu_Golding