When father decides to lie

He would line us up like sheep
One by one he slaughters
Till the sons turn red from crying.
We would tear, scratch and soak ourselves
In pity, we would plead forgiveness
Repentance was our only chance of sinning
Again and again he would lead us through this procession
Till we became masters of this art
Our loud cries became lesser than mockery
Our tears, we sacrifice for one more taste
Again and again he would light our backs
With as much delight as we the sons
Like to show when messing around
He never tires from instilling discipline.

Victor Oyedele