To be good is to be moderately wicked

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*TO BE GOOD IS TO BE MODERATELY WICKER*

The morning sun cut me on my idle bed
I stared at my door and remembered suddenly
Like a blurry dream

Last night someone knocked my door
The hour was still and calm
Each knock rumbled my ears
“My name his Lakimba” his wearied voice said

From his voice I knew he was a stranger
Perhaps, one of those winter travellers
He needs a fortress from the hassling cold
And a haven from the dangerous street

I listened quietly to his teary pleas
My heart was broken for him
But I prayed that he should go from my door
Yet he neither made a stay or went away

I thought for a moment to let him in
Offer him food and my wooden bed

As soon as that bird of goodness perched on my mind
I chased it away with my stones of experience
This world is a cruel place to show kindness
To be good now is to be moderately wicked

So I lay motionless for a while in silence
When I saw the stranger won't stop
I turned my head towards the wall
And fell into a long nourishing sleep

© Olatuja Oloyede