Friday, May 3, 2019

My Right Hand

Under the rain, it wiped my face,
It stiffened and groaned for warmth.
I asked for a roasted yam,
It went through the fire to get me one.
Like a mother is to a child,
So is my right hand to me.

At light's out in the night
When I'm haunted by silly fears,
My head will lean on you,
As I crawl into a shapeless ball.
And all the monsters will disappear,
In a calm, gentle sleep.

Like a nimble squirrel,
It rises to defend me.
Though it hurts from the task,
There is no single complaint.
No friend could be so kind;
No one ever, could be so loyal.

How can I pay you back?
Since you want no fees,
No gratitude and no odes.
Nevertheless, I will cherish you
For your selfless duties
And dauntless sacrifice.
Anyim Mobuchi Noble
Topic(s) of this poem: life

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1/22/2021 2:26:49 PM #