Weeping for my journey from heaven is tiring.
My fragility but renders me hopeless,
I gain happiness from the many who are admiring.
Like a lamb do I hold on to my mother's teats for milk,
I look up at her face which is as smooth as silk.
She cradles me like a prize in a warm embrace,
My head upon her chest her heart beats with what solemn bass.
In the twinkle of an eye
I no longer desire her embrace but to walk on my own
In realisation of gradual loss of me does she sigh
Aggression begins to manifest and I want to be left alone.
From friends we become foes
She weeps and streaks of sadness sip down her nose
She prays regardless for this gift upon her God bestows
And watches helpless as he treads down a path of which not she knows.
Her son becomes a man before her very eyes
Upon his chin a previous bare land grow forth grass
Proud of her son she smiles
With great joy her heart leaps for the bad times are pass
Upon her grave he stares
Longing once more for his mother's love
He owes his life to God and her prayers
Her strife to keep him from the world's hands he knows not of.
Adesina Aanuoluwapo John - 2015
No comments:
Post a Comment