MAMI by Amore David Olamide

There are words for her that I will tell to the ears of Aresa
There are words for her that I will tell to the ears of Alara
There are words for her that I will tell to the ears of Orogun Ila
There are words for her that Ajero must perceive
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There are words that Olurobi must greed about
Regretting why she liberate Ela for demon’s sacrifice
There are words that will resent the ears of Efunsetan Aniwura
For her influence couldn’t protect the verve of her child.
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I will tell these words to the gods and demigods
That rains has drenched our vulture for so long
I will tell these words to the ears of scary demon
That dearth has stained our white-bird with wild affliction.
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I will tell these words that are filthy and irksome
I will tell these words that are perfumed and luscious
I will tell these words of upbringing tribulations
I will tell these words that made me a topnotch.
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That there was no cradle bed to sit and watch on
For our mattress was made of weaved palm-frond
For our bedspread consists of aged and tattered wrapper
And some pale yards of Ankara and broad Kampala.
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That she carried my paunch of pregnancy for nine months
That she struggles and whines for pain in grievous mourns
That she had scratch and throbbing gasp during her confinement
That she waist blood and water from the bed of my birth.
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That she carried me tenderly with her rusty arms
Some rustiness ached from the peals of cassava tubers
That she dazzles around in her absolute prime
Singing lullabies in her moisture love that’s unconditional.
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Why will I forgot those moments of sad memories
When she tore her clothes and made them for my napkins
With no dime to purchase pampers nor bulling currency
Still, she looks into these eyes and absorbs those tears that wink.
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That word will not be enough to describe her tremendous zest
Of those starving moment when she at a standstill feed me from her breast
Of matchless faith her flooding sweats behest
How she kisses my lips with endurance of perfect pest.
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That she washed stuffs and grumpy clothes for my avail
Amid the trodden of hard and heavy rains
That she sings of her commitment and her mournful strives
Hoping for the sun to glisters for a better life.
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That she told my ass the titanic vigor in their spirits
And trained them with flawless acts of sitting
That she told my hands the potency in its arms and wrist
And enlighten them with huge passion for crawling.
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Why will I forgot her rose of courage that never withered
Of each of my smiles that she founds boom and profound
Of how thorns slash her nails from those wood that she gathered
And make blood drift from her hands as she prepares my first light pap.
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That she buckled my shoes and took me to school
And in cloying suns she backed me home just to keep me cool
That she took me to church and taught me a propos of beliefs
And how to act and behave like most of scared cherubim.
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That she fall just to make me steadily rise
That she mends my infant’s spines and entwine my broken heart
That she held her breathes just to make me inhale again
That she’s my mother; she’s a mother with matchless visage.
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About Post Author

Amore David Olamide

dahvydov@gmail.com