Mother’s hands gripping my shoulders,
Her face grim with determination,
For she would rather keep me in her warm bosom,
Than let my fragile frame out to this cold world.
But the time had come,
Like it came for you,
Like it will come for you;
When the warm milk from mother’s tit,
Is no longer enough;
When you have to take hold,
And plant your own feet,
On the sands of time and space.
Knees on dusty ground,
Mother gave me the only thing she could,
The only thing that would replace her caring arms,
On those freezing nights of the world,
That would replace her curing scents,
On those days when fevers would rack my fragile frame to sobs,
Mother gave me her blessings:
One does not fall from a prone position,
You shall not fall!
One does not easily take palm nut from a child,
No one shall take your food from you!
One does not hear the thud of a falling leaf,
No one shall hear of your defeat!
A nursing mother is the envy of the barren woman,
You shall be the envy of your peers!
As the aftertaste of the bitterleaf is sweet,
So shall your hard work, bring you joy!
The needle passes even when the way of the thread is blocked,
You shall triumph where others fail!
Written by: Chikatito Jones
Edited by: Kukogho Iruesiri Samson
I am a member of the WRR editorial team.