MOTHER AND CHILD --by Slick

(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