Why Passage Of Mother Is Most Pangfull (From Parturition To Heaven-Crown) Poem by Tony Cemaluk

Mother did not die, she passed —
like carton passing from head to hand of angels.

Carton upon carton,
Sweat anointing her wrapper,
Pride stitched to her sole, stepping as a purposed soul.
Her back never knew cushion,
Only carton, only courage.

She did not hire hands,
She became the hands.
She refused help then,
So I would never need help now.

Let my today be heavy,
So his tomorrow be light —
Nne bu ugwu,
Nne bu ife.
Nne lota, aguu agafuo —
Mother comes home, hunger disappears.

Her wrapper was not cloth,
It was flag, it was map,
It was covenant tied at her waist,
That her son must rise to reign.

Then came the Passage, even at fulfilled age —
Most pangfull.
Not empty pain,
But pain full of purpose.

The last carton fell,
But a crown rose.
Her sweat did not drop to dust,
It rose as incense to heaven.

And I remain —
I am Cemaluk.
What she carried on head,
I carry in chest.
Her wrapper now my toga,
Her prayer chant now my verse.
I turned to Poet for her.
To digitally document, immortalize her pre-passage past.

So in prostration, I mount her on world altar
chanting her pre-passage past to live on without leaving —
PoemHunter cannot forget,
Google cannot erase,
Carton-steps echoing in cloud.

Call me not son of struggle,
Call me CEMALUK —
Son of the woman who carried cartons
And carried destiny.

Mama Cecilia, your passage was pangfull,
But your passage is praise and poetry
in prostration — I echo and re-echo your pre-passage past
in the presence of your absence
to remain present, to live and not leave
till we too pass away to be present
in respective pre-passage past