SWEET MOTHER BY OLOYEDE MICHAEL TAIWO

Like a lump in her womb 

Was my seed in her tube 

Washing her skin into mottled pigment of St.louis cube 

Invoking amidst her being a strange feud 

As the odd presence of a teetotaller in a pub 

Her feet clogged with the weight of beach sands 

Swinging her waist in unfair balance 

Her mouth wane 

Like murky streams in holes 

cut-out in cones 

Insipid like the savour of metal bones 

Her words in slurry mime 

Sticky as reptilian slime 

My birth an awaited grace 

Shutting her face 

In the theatre of bizzarred fate 

Clock ticks slowly 

Moments drag excessively 

The pangs of death shrill loudly 

Darkness crest her shoulders 

Weakness she shuddered 

Her eyes flapping like papery shutters 

A form within troubles for the world to see 

In a minute the ethereal world she sojourned 

The energy of bliss in tears to summon 

In her head were sparks of devastating lightning 

Submerging her world in ferocious imageries 

As I tore through her tissues 

Into the intreating hands in queue 

Yet her silver - cord 

Launched forth my umbilical cord 

Like the letting of rope to a kite to soar 

Her life against death's stake 

To hold my fragile frame 

All just stood in awry gaze 

As in the world I took my place 

Of her pains to have me stay 

she never complained 

But 

A smile and kiss 

For all the agony in wait. 

So, 

This convener of my frame 

Is the most famous of all being of fame 

For my soul on the sands of time, she compelled to stay.