Succubus… 50/50

I sat in front of a campfire, in a desolate place unknown to me… Just after sunset prayer. The colors of the day’s end draining out of the sky. Looking through the flames and wondering where the hell I was, she appeared from nowhere… a beautiful brown skinned woman with a long whore’s braid, standing there on the other side of the fire, wearing nothing but a blood red blanket over her shoulders and nothing else just staring at me. A jinn harlot!…afraid but unmoving, and with a furrowed and reciprocated stare of my own, I started praying again…she smiled and threw off the blanket. Even as the words rushed off of my tongue I angrily felt the old demon within me starting to wake up. Human nature…the forever bothersome destroyer of minds, souls, and even worlds…male desire. I jumped up and kicked rocks at this damned succubus along with 50,000 curses. “Go!… leave me alone!” “Oh my Maker help me, it burns from within! As if a serpent of magma is slithering through my insides!”… she started laughing at all my now seemingly meaningless prayers and put one foot into the fire… then the other. I fell backwards and landed on my back paralyzed with fear as I watched this thing dance seductively nude in the flames. There were no screams, movements of agony, or aromas of burning flesh… only the whispers and moans of a khabeethah… a Twisted sexual female devil. She raised up her left hand and beckoned me in “the burning” to join her. Even in the flames, her eyes and other womanly wares she was offering were somehow more tempting to me than taking the great bowie knife I have out of the pack I brought, and chopping this false woman’s head off in order to save myself. What the hell kind of nature is the soul to so blindly lust and hunger for such an addictively attractive but certain death as this shaytaniyyah?… even men of faith are built of flesh, bone, and blood… and yes, need! The Creator spares no one this trial… And this thing! Thick Succulent lips and voluptuously toned hips. With a head of hair as black as her ( or it’s) own hell-bound heart. “Oh, what she might and could do.” I said. “Snap out of it Pack!” I roared through gritted teeth. In a brazen panic I reached in my pack and brought out this witch’s doom. Feeling finally sure of myself and what must be, I stood up. Same body… two different fires. The one in my loins going out… the one in my heart now set a blaze. Meanwhile, my wily and fiery guest continued to writhe about with her body in a way inviting to about 50,000 mad and erotic adventures. I looked at her unblinking…straight in those beautiful but hellishly evil eyes of hers. Now it was my time to smile. Not understanding the change in me, her laughter died out and her own smile fell from her pretty mouth. I raised by Bowie, then I whispered my Maker’s name followed by two words… “ Human need.”… Swish!…

Published by Pack Redfeather

I am a walking contradiction of traditions some say. An African American and Native American Muslim poet with a personal life history as violently turbulent as a Storm. A visionary from the bottom of life’s social barrel striving to share the hope found in the light of faith through sometimes dark but real poetry. I’m a former member of the Bloods street gang, former serial bank robber, and both federal/state prison convict. I live on my mother’s tribal reservation of the Leech Lake band of Ojibwe in Minnesota.

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