Daughter,
Now you look down on me.
Children speak behind their parent's back,
You speak to my face
With hate in your voice
And spite in your eyes!
You compare me
With the dirt in the bin
Your-own-mother.
You throw me insults
And curses
Whatever those hurtful words are!
You, the daughter of a lion
Whom I had named
Labimpe! Omosewa, Oluremi!
The child I had long waited for!
You now call yourself Vanessa!
Van-for short
Whatever that mean.... Labimpe!
You whom I had carried in my shell called womb!
For 9 painful months.
You whom I had carried on my shell called back!
For 3 long years.
I will give you an advise today,
Omosewa!
Be careful of the arrows you spit out from your mouth.
There is no powerful flesh as the tongue.
There is no powerful word as curse;
A mother to the child,
A child to the mother.
As those you say with your heart set on fire.
Of dark eyes of coal,
Of hate, of night.
....
What do you make of these lines. I'm writing the words as straightforward as possible. A mother whose name is unrevealed cries for her daughter, Labimpe! To your understanding, do you think the mother is weak? What do you observe so far?
YOU ARE READING
My Voice, My Choice
Poetry#1 in africanpoetry #6 in racist This poem collection contains various atrocities that happens between mothers and their daughters. 'My Voice, My Choice' is a debate between an educated daughter and her illiterate mother. Experience is the best teac...
