The Road She Carried Poem by Martins Akhoeneto

Upon her back, the infant sleeps,
While Mother walks where distance keeps;
Enfolded in her faded cloth,
The child knows not what she has lost.

The stones are teeth beneath her feet;
The sun beats down with ruthless heat.
Her shoulders bow, her sinews strain
Yet love outwalks the length of pain.

The child knows neither thirst nor scar,
Nor how her footsteps wander far;
Each mile is paid in flesh and breath
To keep the child from want and death.

She bends beneath the weight of two,
Yet bears tomorrow safely through;
Her weary back becomes the way,
Her strength the price of every day.

The child sleeps on, untouched by fear,
While distant storms draw ever near.
For every wound the mother bears
Becomes a shield against the years.

One day, perhaps, the child will know
What every silent mile had cost;
The road was never soft below
Her mother only made it so.

For this is love: to bleed unseen,
To bear the weight that lies between;
To spend your strength, your blood, your breath,
And turn its burden into rest.

The road was cruel. The miles were wild.
It only felt like home to the child.