Other side

Flee self, be

Living Mama’s are the carriers of thy labouring nine months

Ripples and waves of aches and pains
The anguish to relish the blossom of thy cactus
Shaping into adulthood from childhood

She parented, guarded thee, the child
Thy mind, body and soul
Differing thoughts and emotions transpire
Clash of the titans, bumpy roads and potholes

She is Mama, the earth that birthed thee

75 year Mama bore children
Some rest in peace passed
Others left children in the diaspora

She sleeps in the open
In a hut of aluminium sheets and bamboo sticks
With blessed support of younguns nearby

Up in the hills, mosquitoes ringing
No cement blasts the floor
Rainfall erodes the hardened sandy soil

Her sleep interrupts when this happens
An adjusting in bed positioning

Her husband left this realm ions gone, no family support, hence

Children in the diaspora where are ye to help thy biological living Mama?

Others may help, cool, where’s you?

Tribal superstitions a ron rife in ones mind, as a source maybe of neglect
Bun dat, one’s digress

What evil, wrong could Mama have committed

She who bore and cared for thee?

She cries and wipes the tear from her eyes

The interviewer said don’t cry Mama, it’s going to be ahright

A vessel, creating subsequent vessels. Their independents, cool. Flesh and blood, a spiritual experience, atune, try to.

Simply, without her, there will be no?

You, there is a clue

The men, grandmen not hearing from their children

Man dey empathise
The umbilical cord and bond servered

None not fathered may, can’t understand, thy emotional and mental turmoil

Ladies, whatever it is these gents did and how raw

Please let the gents hear from their babies, their children

One offs, temporary, dem hurting

He who seeded, planted and germinated

Gratefully, the lady and the gent have a handsome son, sons, a beautiful daughter, daughters

Parties benefitted

Hearing the pain, wretched slain

For their sins, we all sin
For their saints, we all saints
Back and forth on the swing

A piece of heaven
A piece of hell
In this living

Before they hit the other side and thee thinks

Heck I should’ve let him
Checked on Mama, Grandpa
Given the children a chance, children to ask
How they’re doing?

It’d be late then
Maybe an about turn
To heal the wounded