We have grown to heights
We have even added some weights
We forget the disastrous teen age
And those who walked on edge
To see that we would be of age
Those who had cuts and sleepless nights
Those who gave up their happiness and rights
And they overnight turned into knights
Just for a son and daughter.
Wishing for soon or later.
That their skull like would be better
We had outgrown Nappies
Its time for blazers, suits and beer
We can't reminisce her back lifting of us
Thus we have failed to lift her back
To us, she was a life time sacrifice
And for a life time we have sacrificed her
Our school uniforms bruised her hands to numerous wounds
And in our Offices we see those hands rot to death
We laugh at them on our way to bars, porkjoints and beaches
Poor old bitch! We say
She deserves Sauna, steam bath or massage, but her bones might break
Doesn't she have children?
What did she do in her thirties and forties?
Isn't she married? Is she a widow?
What happened to her relatives?
Did old age stop killing such?
We judge and sentence quickly
We swear affidavits at her demise
And wish her well in hell
Her oldbones are not good for streets
And neither are they for the village farm
She walked on a straightline for us to live
We draw dotted lines for her to jump
We don't owe her anything, we say...
Motherhood is a responsiblity she undertook at leisure
She is broken and forgotten
Not even a poem can repair her.
Wednesday, March 24, 2021