The Madwoman And Her Comedian Son Poem by Adegbenro Adekunle

She was Mrs. ‘Wheyrey'
She had no husband, only a band
She would bind her waist and wrist with ugly and stinking items
Her posture was incomplete without a scary stand
No one understood her screams
No one cared about her playful plight

She was sane, only that she would dance without music
She was mean, only that she would greet every passing fly
Her life was not classy
She was jobless, though looked very busy
She was her own friend
She was her own sister
So, never blame her if she kept smiling to herself

She would tip-toe
Like a curious cop spying on a foe
And then, she would run
Like a helpless and voiceless victim chased with a blood thirsty gun

She walked through thorny and stony footpaths
Until her feet bled
She screamed senselessly loud
Until her brain cried
She walked under the scorchy sun
Until her blood almost dried

She was known for her song
With countless stanzas sung all day long
She was pleasant without any wrong
Except that she carried her madness all along

For nine mad months, I was wrapped in her warm womb
For many months, she slept near her honest and hacked husband's thumb
For two yoked years, she fed me with cruel crumb
For two yobbish years, I wanted to speak to her, but I was damn dumb


She watched me grow
As passersby watched a shabby mother and child like a free show
She would laugh loudly for no reason
Like happy horses in their playful season
She would paint her face with mucky mud and dance unrestraint
Yet, she took care of her child without constraint

Now, I am grown
Now, I don't groan
Now, I can speak
Now, I don't break
Now, I entertain several spectators like mum
Now, I don't entertain for free
Now, my pay is as juicy as a very plump plum
Now, my healed mum and I can collectively celebrate with glowing glee


Written August 1,2026
© Adegbenro Adekunle