The Womb Of A Mother
Hands froze to the chest
by Abiodun Adekoya
Grudge of soreness flies with the brink of anger
The foretell of the gods –
Kolanut, red oil, clay pot
Smoked yam and dried catfish
Given to the labyrinthine phantoms
Never stop her wrinkled belly
From given birth to stillbirths.
How long will this place
Witness grave of pains
That bestow on me
With their condolences?
Time ticks, cock crows
And day faded away
Like beauty of a woman.
I have broke the siege of opele pot
And rend apart secret of the wolf forest
Maybe their impotence is not longevity
But superstition avails on vanity
Lizard and gecko fighting wall for supremacy.
One still follows after the others
Like stock of anthill to the grave.
What shall I done that could erase
The orgy of tradition in this house?
Labour clinic is ashamed of my footsteps
And weak to these come and go
The spotless children of moonlight.
Baba voice is harden like coconut shell
Came back with another woman
To replace a position occupied for years
All because his eyes needs to witness grandchildren
But never wear shoes where its pitches.