THE TRANSPORTERA Poem by Onyia-Ali, Kingsley Chukwuebuka Benson Transportation. THE TRANSPORTER (Dramatic Monologue) Before they had entered into my cab They were told, as they gab I speed, against the parameter, I
reversed Speedily zoomed, after we all traversed. I took them at the back sit, fully aware Into that hefty slope, knocked them off
everywhere It was after a long distance, onto that
heavy spattered On top of their littered bodies, I
matched. Blood boom, like a river flood, it wash them
down Broken into pieces, flesh and bones, subtracted then Some faces left familiarly unacquainted I guessed they would picked The little scrap left, kept into a coffin. My vehicle, my own cab, you delighted my
eyes When I saw people from all corner of the world
glance I bragged and squeaked, I was a driver, A
transporter An African number one champion and ever Would I assume the post Because I drove across the
coast. We all drove, but I drove, first, to delight my
fiancé When I saw blood bloom glittering wealth,
a scene Was created before my face, like an
ornament of gold Met in the eyes of different delighted. My passengers went shot In my cab, his bullet, struck them all and left A dozen dead, half dead, half-alive,
tearing My papers, my driving license was flaming.
Fire out break, down drunk the word
My name went into the flame, breaking a
record That one notorious driver, drove
different styles Plying, without breaking, a
dint of his bodies. I was sure, I was a spirit, a spiritual
driver, I Could disappear and reappear in a wink
of an I (eye) Could you observe and listen, how they all
went down? I came up for the race, sat in my cab,
known That my break got fault, and I took a shot A raw bacheus, went into my head last
night When I sipped, my eyes wept and slept a
number Of dozes, I could remember. I was sure, I was a prophet of one scenario They must die and some dead before they
roar Their heart shrieked and jump into their
stomach My audience shrugged,
they watched and ache. When the screen steadily gazed into my
eyes All transparency blanked, tired around
my face (I drove them into slopes) Shred into pieces, narrowed them down Shoulder high was I, with crown. I knew it was a game And I was delighted, to play it again Now more elaborate blood would sprout From different arteries, and veins
sustaining a cut. You would see, how blood could emerge Like an African soldiers across the edge. Rushing to be slaughtered In a heroic welcomed. After there was a shot All blood splattered, glittering wet I was sparkled, sparkling in blood Like a onyx kept, in the house of
gold. ©
2013 Onyia, Kingsley C.
All
Right Reserved © 2015 Onyia-Ali, Kingsley Chukwuebuka BensonReviews
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Onyia-Ali, Kingsley Chukwuebuka BensonEnugu, Eastern, Nigeria, NigeriaAboutA student, from University of Nigeria, Nsukka. A writer of Poems, Short stories and Play and (Novel*) Note: Poetry can not be subjected to any single definition. We know, of course, there are num.. more..WritingRelated WritingPeople who liked this story also liked..
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