The lamp that will go off
Won't wait for the fierce wind!
The sun that will dry the tongue
Have to live for seven days.
The sweetest fruit of life
Are found in our locals
And not like drinks and wine
Of this city,
Mixed with preservatives and chemicals.
Who says there isn't water
In the clouds of the sky?
Who says the rivers doesn't sink
When the season is dry?
Who says there isn't dozen of words
In the cheapest radio box
Who says I am childish enough
To be a cunny fox?
Mother, this Labimpe of yours is no fool!
To be a coward to betray her own rules
I will stay, mother
In this land of opportunity
Of both flowing wealth and money
I will stay!
Whether it deserves this reputation
Or has received little attention.
I will stay
On this land of the free and home of the brave.
I would never leave America for the cave!
And who cares?
Who, but the lunatic?
Will mix sugar to soup,
To sweeten its taste.
Who dare turn a deaf ear to a chirping bird, but the craze?
Are my words so shameful
That you wear a mask over your face?
Over your skin as if you lack
In the benefit of this phase?
Mother!
In your voice, I hear hate for the white men
In your eyes I see the depth of hunger to be home.
Like a thirsty child
Stopped from sucking breast milk from its mother!
I see you sober.
Oh! Your site stinks of corruption.
Of the heart, of the soul, of the body.
That were aren't alike, or anything similar.
You, a woman of intellectual mind.
Of culture and courage.
You who raised Labimpe,
The girl of dragon words.
Mother,
My friend,
My only guardian and life supporter
What are we saying?
How can I explore America with our African beliefs?
Never, mother!
Never!
To be king you have to live of royalty.
If not live like them, then with them.
Else you end in suffering and poverty
Dusted to the bones with the shackles of slavery!
Mother,
You heard me cry my first tears
Your saw me take my first step
You raised me up in the cocoa farms
The only thing left of my father's.
You bought my first snake-skinned slippers!
You weaved my first bud of cotton hair
Your two hands roofed me all these years.
But your heart is an elephant grass.
Now of all time,
Why would I desert you?
Why would I ever?
At home, when I schooled,
Your memory came to me as an angel
Chasing away the evil of loneliness
With its soothing veil.
Now the presence I craved for,
I finally have.
But your roots are deep down the ground.
Bronzed.
It's night, mother
The sun sinks
Go home to rest on the shed
Where the stars blinks.
Nigeria awaits you
In Africa.
***
I love the fact that Labimpe reconsiles with her mother. Probably, she feels guilty for everything, but she didn't say sorry. Instead, she says goodbye. Does it makes sense for Amoke to leave?
ВЫ ЧИТАЕТЕ
My Voice, My Choice
Поэзия#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...
