Tears trace broken lines across a face weathered by a mother’s journey
The tiny fetus that had been robbed of its life shouldn’t know regret for not ever living it, but certainly its murderers should know of it for its sake and their conscience.
One of the most treasured ingredients of the earliest part of life is in the lack of the full knowledge of it. It is an ingredient that feels like mist over the head of a blind man, who senses its thick moist presence but doesn’t determine it by sight.
When I felt it happen too;
Like I heard and saw it too.
I died that day that I knew;
I was just me and not new.
Then alive I sprout out again;
Living as all do, after their first pain.
The child learns to be his own person as he ages and develops his own ability to endure life at first and its worries next. But when he gets accustomed to enduring life and learns to numb out most of the sorrow he feels in it, he then acknowledges that living thrives out of form, if it discards its ordered laws and professes its rebelling need for rules. Otherwise that early instant knowledge of life and its subtleties would render a child hapless to a situation it hasn’t as yet mastered and make life appear pointless from a very early age. Just like a shooting star sighted from earth appears to hit no target, life will appear to serve no purpose but only serve a steadily distressing experience by all logical human estimation.
You are only young once,
Blossomed to take your chance;
To scent the world’s spring
With the fruit kinds you bring
Life tends to congregates us in one loving hub of family and friends, wooing us to have and share love for one another, as it educates us with the knowledge of our inevitable end and final separation. But it never empowers us with the secret of bearing its insipid emptiness and harsh betrayal. It is cruel and just not truly fair.
The following poem is an experience also documented in the novel: ‘The old woman’s maid’
A strong gust of air blew
And twin curtains withdrew.
Float horizontally in mid-air,
Like Angles’ wings would pair.
The mother walked in her peace,
Embodied in that first brief glimpse
From within a curtained covering;
Into our world an Angle steps in.
Unique as, loving every person;
Everyone passes her tests’ reason.
Saw goodness, polished badness;
Her large heart sought happiness.
This world her one own family,
Which will see her out, sadly.
Her motherhood a duty not a task,
In her circumstances that lack.
A right for which she had fought,
Is her motherhood in every breath.
She lost physical battles down here,
But won the war with years to spear.
Then she had cancer and died,
Joining all those from us deaths hide.
The victor hasn’t yet flourished
When his vanquished all perished.
Death can only but surely lose,
Yet the fear of him we choose.
He doesn’t get the peace we see.
Then what really, really has he?
He can’t keep us as ornaments,
Passing for the briefest moments.
His power ends where it starts,
Coming and going, never ever lasts.
He reveals two very key lessons
In this very life for all persons;
Where lies a life there are lies
And all roads to a same place plies.
It is really true then and no fuss;
God sends his Angles amongst Us
Takes them when he misses them,
Out of a world that cherishes them.
blind, Born, brave, breasts, chest, child, cloud, consciousness, Deceive, Die, doom, first, future, gone, grave, happiness, Home, hunger, kindness, knife, light, literature, loneliness, misery, Mother, mystery, Nature, nest, Poems, Poetry, promise, reward, Sanity, sight, starve, Sun, The poet in the poem, thirst, uncertainty, word, World, Yas Niger, youth
O’ my nest,
Born to be the best,
Even when I die of thirst,
My last drop you will have first.
O’ this world,
Spare me a word.
Call me anything,
At least say something.
You cloud my sanity;
My consciousness you cover,
So do please roll over.
A cause for bother.
Those you’ve punished,
Deceived and banished.
You’re a mystery
That hushes the brave
And starve the grave.
Where is your sight?
Drop the knife
And use some light.
Born of happiness;
May your reward be no other
Than your blessed mother.
So many about,
Yet in your meanness
You cast me out.
Why express your might
On good fate
And make its wards the late?
Watch my tears.
Please make me the late
Or show me someone who really cares.
How can you be so simple
Yet so mean,
As if it is no sin?
Come in whatever nature,
Just promise me;
In my place my child you’ll see.
For whom I roam,
Is it youth that is blind
Or I chest breasts of doom?
BREASTS OF DOOM is also available as a novel
ELEGY OF OUR MUMMY
Your produce is here and true,
For this surely a mummy are you.
From the start of it all you were
Willing that all elements be there.
The availability of all that is good
Is so limitless and has no mood.
You were to be of such a mould;
An embodiment of this idea so old.
You could see with blind eyes
Embrace truth and discard their lies.
As all came and as all so went,
You blur pain and just dreamt.
Indifference is that able chance
Not just affordable to all hands.
Compassion has love in its nature,
Lacking no past, present or future.
Dead is an air bubble inside a diamond,
Your aged love lingers on inside time.
Till you died, to these lives your breath lives on Though death ever comes back down to earth.