Time for Daddy’s show.
Daddy played mummy like a drum:
Mummy gave a sound.
Loud enough for the world not to hear.
Her cries lacked worth,
for nobody heard.
Nobody saw a sign:
scars, bruises on mummy’s face, pale skin.
Daddy had skill,
Never hit to kill… the sound.
He loved the sound;
the morns, screams of his drum.
But the world too busy to watch Daddy’s performance.
Never thought Daddy’s such a skilled drummer.
So Daddy stage-played before audience of one.
Daddy hit mummy before their son.
Mummy screams muted,
For the son shielded his ears from Daddy’s curses.
Eyes closed, too dignified to let Daddy have someone to watch.
So he had audience of none.
Fedup with playing to himself every night,
Daddy decided to hit hard
For his drum to give a loud sound.
Mummy cried, mummy cried.
Damn! Mummy’s screams never caught the air this time.
Mummy stopped moving.
The world came rushing in.
Maybe to watch the last performance.
Maybe this is what they’ve been waiting for.
Maybe that’s what makes Daddy perfect: a man.
For he hit the drum ’till it’s torn.
No more sound.
By Poloko Lesuoa
Stop Violence Against Women