My Nightmare Poem by Martins Akhoeneto

Come back home, take a nap
Was her constant repeating calls
That held bound our neighbourhood
Almost staring folks to day-flight
Though it made me but broke my spine,
Heart threaten they were in truth
Yet soul quenching its consequence
Coming steadily and never failing
Mainly in seasons of sweat omens
Brightly awaking smiles and steep dimple
On the face of every fun-loving child
It happens to mar, make and prepare
A timid mind, a villain of the world.
So it is said that mothers are moulders
But my hand-pan was for too heavy
Compare to my own naïve juvenile lads
Whose dirty hands soils mum’s white-wears
But still, you were my night-mare