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Eric Aghadiuno

of

Wappingers Falls, NY, US

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The Prostitute

by

Eric Aghadiuno


Mother of the bastard
Wife to a thousand nocturnal husbands
Engage in the ancient trade of debauchery
Brazen in all her actions

Ugh! See how she glances coquettishly
At prospective customers
Advertising her most intimate assets
All for money, the enduring paradox of evil

Promiscuity is her daily code of existence
Besmirched by the seeds of her thousand customers
She adorns imitation bijoux and wears cheap perfume
To suppress her rottenness
Ah! Mother of all holiness now feels aseptic
And proudly swallows the very next membrum virile

But look! See how she constantly spit out saliva
Irritated by her own impurity
This derelict Islet
Turned into a frigid relief object
In exchange for cash

Oh! What a shame
This wife, this mother, this whore
Whose path only leads to the grave


Gong, Gong, Gong

by

Eric Aghadiuno

Gong, Gong, Gong
Sang the Oghni
Somber in broadcast
A harbinger of doom.
Ululation greets the news
For disaster is foreseen.

Amid the clamor and bustle
The elders sat, perturbed, broken
Old Irrks tree without leaves
Waiting for the vultures to perch
For they knew no sacrifice made
Would avert this looming disaster.

Look! Even the Zmznna shiver with fright.
The strident barking of the dogs
Interlaced with the wailing of the women
All blending with the cacophonous shrill of the night breeze
Froze the ghost in their heads.
Ugh! They sighed, hopelessly.
These were obvious fragrance of doom.

Ewoo! Cried the villagers
Who were the white men foreseen
To destroy the peace of the village
And make them turn away from their chi?
Christians the oracle had said.
Ewoo! They cried, filled with grief.

Above, the night clouds parted in mourning.
Afar, the bleating of goats
And the cackle of chicken entwined
With the solemn gong of the oghni
Gong, Gong, Gong.