The solace of anti meridian
hung densely in the atmosphere
My eager ears as st. John's fishing net
Fetching melodies
from tight thighs of slender shrubs
An opera of cricket choristers
Mingled with tranquility
as loud as serenity
like a robe upon my rind; A godly presence
as I fed upon *Adichie's* brainchild
*Popular African Writer and Feminist*
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