Abiku Poem by Michael Adeosun

Mother, it is I
who knock at your door.
Once again I knock for
the first time.
These multiple footprints
at your doorstep, my mark.
No sooner does the door open
for my entry than it does
for my exit.
For coming and going
is the essence of my existence.
A child of two worlds, I am.
And my stay I must alternate
between both.

Weep not, mother.
Stead gladden at the joy
of ever having on your lap a baby
sucking your breast.
No one can call you barren
for your fertility has been
proven over and over.
Gladden that you do not
have to face the problem of
of mothering a teenage child.
What a problem it is
to raise a teeny-bopper.

Mother, I will be the
little darling in the neighbourhood.
The little beauty with skin radiant,
fair and spotless.
Not even your knife scars
serrating down my back and front
can take away the beauty from
my beauty.

Waste not your livestock in propitiation.
For your libations are but water
poured into basket.
Each time I die, the bablawo's
honour dies too.
His reputation is with me buried.
But I shall be born again.

Weep not, mother.
For I shall go to come back.
Rest assured, I shall be back.