Read Time:1 Minute, 6 Second
Brace for the memories of a child
the fragrance of a baby you can’t scent, but she adores
the cradle, with the untold tales, she kept safe like a medal
the provenance of motherhood
The cradle at the corner of her old bed
she said it is a blessing she can’t get rid of
The language she alone speaks becomes a tone we twist
the song whose lyrics dance on her lips “The Cradle”
Mama accommodates tears like a guest
letting out a yelp without verbalizing
like the cry of a grieving animal
She mourns her past in silence
The past when she entrusted her baby to the cradle
nurtured her motherhood with pride of honour, after years of mockery
On the cradle, death cuddles her baby like a ducky
She nurtures the strange touch of betrayal in her old room for years still counting
The cradle in Mama’s old room is a statue of liberty
the liberty of hope she kept even before she conceived
the answer to the prayers she sent the Almighty’s way
the cradle of pains, and happiness
Saadatu Uzairu is a multi-talented creative from Adamawa State, Nigeria, who thrives as a writer, poet, and handbag maker. Her artistic journey began with leatherwork, and it blossomed into a multifaceted career that now includes farming. Currently residing in Minna, Niger State, Saadatu’s diverse skills showcase her passion for creativity and resourcefulness.
