by Eke O. Theophilus
The African mother Is the famished black mother
With a baby strapped behind her like a Mary-go-round
Digging and mopping beads of sweat from her
wrinkled face with the fringe of her tattered attire
Irrespective of her husband’s insults and hounds.
The African mother is that despicable beauty
With aura of invincibility and soul of a dove
Her gentility, beyond evaluation and life of sanctity
She scowls at the problems of her family and bears it all alone.
The African mother is superfluously charming
Her warm bosom so inviting, her cubs find it tender
Her feeble heart never ready to stop sacrificing
The African flower can do anything for her seed to love her
That African mother ensures her indispensable
child snores through the night while she plunders the world of wonder.
She is ever ready to acquire the shame that
accompanies a fallible child and surrenders
the praise that trails a glorious one.
The African mother toils beneath the
scourging heat of the sun, starving for her
own to feed.
The matriarch of all joy combined can
metamorphose into a fighter, both of man and
animal, for her child’s safety.
Only the African mother can attest to the
appalling taste of another person’s phlegm.
Our great ebony mother does all that and
more, not for the glory, but for her precious
pearl called the African child!