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Sunday, 28 February 2016


(Photography: Slick)

On a particular Tuesday, nothing seemed to be fun at all. I had suddenly lost interest in things I considered fun to do. I tried to write but there was nothing forthcoming. I decided to sit on the balcony to see if I could be inspired by anything that may pass by so headphones plugged in, seated without a shirt on, a little rum in a glass, I waited for inspiration to pass by.

Thirty minutes after, a woman dressed in native attire holding the hand of her son passed by. She did not wear much make-up probably because of the intensity of the sun rays. A set of beautifully knitted beads adorned her neck. White pearls served as ear rings for her ear lobes. I could see the outline of her veins through her fair skin. Then her hair! Oh my! She was rocking a low-cut. She had an image an artiste would have coveted jealously. She was incessantly bothered by her son who was about two years old. "Mummy buy biscuit for me" were the only words I heard as they walked by.
She was a woman I knew when she was a spinster but she suddenly had transformed into this beautiful mother.

I simply loved the sight. It got me imagining things. I tried to picture myself as a boy doing the same thing this toddler was doing while gullibly believing the white lies my Mother would tell me about biscuits causing discoloration of the teeth. After all, she was African! There was my inspiration; Mother and Child. So I got busy writing this poem, hoping that you can relate to and enjoy it.

Mother and Child on a lonely road
Two beautiful intertwined souls
Like a prophecy our story was foretold
Months passed and it came true

I walk you through these streets
To strengthen your feet
To dominate them
And never accept defeat

You must know your turf
Guard it jealously
Intruders will always come
Heed my warnings and never conform

Mother, what will it be?
Biscuits or sweets?
Grant my wishes
Your white lies are killing me

Aha! A white lie is a necessity
When the wallet is empty
And your whining is not an elixir
For this scorching sun

Remember these routes Segun
For you will walk them alone
Maybe when you are eleven
When I am too old and feeble

Mother and Child on a lonely road
These were the words of my mother
Two beautiful intertwined souls
Mother the guide, Child the toddler

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