Woman, Still a Woo-man

I am woman and a woo-man.
Not because you are a man;
But because I am human and woman.

I am a piece artfully and bravely wrought:
Dabbed in tart tapestry of silk and silver.

Sufferance is the badge of all our tribe.
Neither exacting a price nor a bribe;
We let you feed fat on our care-strong from our love.
Drunk from faithfulness even in infidel drought

We help forge new weapons:
To conquer new demons—
Vanquish old wizards.
We mend the fence against foreign foxes;
That threaten intrusion into our pen-house

We fight off all domestic malice:
Fend off all foreign envy.
Quench all flames that fan embers of ancient grudge
In your household.
We are the dearest and the nearest you could ever have.

We assign reason upon reason to this holy endeavor
Not to repair our fortune.
For we too came from a parlour;
Where meals are served with shiny silvery spoons.

So when you make us mere party pieces—
On display for your political privilege;
You sting our rage!
You pierce out hearts!
You dagger and drag our soul through the streets of dejection.

We are not the chandelier adorning your palace.
Nor the chariots in your stable.
We came as peculiar care of heaven;
With sovereign sway and royalty—
Doubly bound by body ,blood and water;
To hatch your eggs.

So ne’er doubt the devotion of a wilful woman;
To her man.
We battle nature to bring forth
Sons and daughters.
So your bloodline is not relegated to the pages of long forgotten journals.

We are the hands that make the meals.
Knitting the silk;
With plenteous love in every stitch
For you and your kids.

Like the finger that catches your tears;
We cleave!
When half of the world leaves.

We stand tall even when life throws us upside down.
As a woman;
We always device methods of our own
To live right-side up!

So when you throw tantrums;
Or fling fists for fights;
Threatening to sting the soul that held your heart and home, asking no ransome.
You cook stale our love

Even when you parade your pageant of nipples
With reckless abandon right before Obinna and Adanna
Know that you rig canals of distrust.
It wrinkles their nascent memories through the mud—leaving them limping on teetering foot for stance later in life.

We are a child’s best teacher
We dress them up for greatness.
With keenness of corner we find their rumpled robes and straighten them up!
We offer hope;
Seeing through their pagan eyes that smirk of fear and uncertainty—
We give them strength to stroke stories dotted in success.

So when they leave our arms and face the world;
They are suited and booted.
Cocked and locked for exploits.
That’s my medal of motherhood!

Nwoke m, when we become too clingy
Don’t get too stingy ;
with that masculine musk
We just want to keep you very close
So we can keep you much longer.

Every woman loves one man
Once at a time!

So treat me right.
I am a woman
And your woo-man
Not just a reservoir for another semen.

For every girl, lady, woman, mother. There isn’t a fitting reward for what you do.

Why not share?

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