The Archer by Fawole Immanuel Taiwo

THE ARCHER

My mouth cannot utter
How this arrow has hit me.
Deeply,
Into the core of my heart,
Into the marrows of my bones,
Has this arrow hit me.

She that shot the arrow,
To my knowing,
Never intended it;
But I may err.
Her shot,
I cannot even tell the target,
Has made me its victim.

How the mighty are fallen!
How the great are brought down!
How with a shot, I am defeated.

I never knew this is how it goes.
Papa never taught me how he received it
And I never bothered to query.
Mama never schooled me on how it went
And I become a prey of this Archer.

If the mount will not go to Mohammed,
Then, Mohammed will be the visitor.
If the hunter chooses not to scout her victim,
Then the victim would be the humble guest.
Here I am, where is my hospitality?

Your shot has hit its victim
And I am here to make homage.
The core of me has received the signal.
Here I am to act.

Make of me, your victim,
What you wish.
At your disposal, I lay my will.
Take of you what you will
But do not toy with my heart—
The aerial and harbour of your volley.

Biography:

 Fawole Immanuel Taiwo is a poet and writer. He’s a student of Obafemi
Awolowo University, department of Philosophy. He takes delight in
literature because he believes that’s his truest form of communication.
“Segilola Eleyinju Ege” is one of his poems.