I hold on to my pen with my trembling fingers
I write this with a teary eye and a melting heart
Tears dripping unto my paper like drops of rain; it doesn’t seem to end
I am silently weeping as I continue to write
Craving direly for just a reason
To save me from the dreadful thoughts of regret
And to doubt my conscience for just a while
Readers, audience, critics, lovers;
I need you to call to my attention where I have gone wrong so I can break free from the prison of my wild thoughts
My mother was aware of the discomfort of being heavy
Yet, she took the race and bore the pain
Forgetting how she will increase in weight and lose shape, have a wide face and stress written all over her face
She was prepared ahead of her day, lectured on how she will bear the pain of going through labor
A strand of hair on her body never moved at the lamentation of the other heavy mates.
Her determination at a point could be said to have been driven by an ulterior motive
I couldn’t have denied that she was blinded by all. And was ready to be delivered of a bundle of joy.
A few months later, my mother was birthed of a baby
A weary face wore an active smile
Her strength-less body held unto me with a firm grip
Should I proceed to take you back to the time I napped on her comforting back
Or the moment when I cried at night costing her her rest?
How can I forget those times she offered water and I cried for fruit juice?
My silly self oblivious of how she had strived to get me my inconsiderable desires
I grew up by her side, knowing she was all I had
Sometimes I want to ask, why she was always at my beck and call
Regardless of how many times I needed her; she showed up
I felt the need to ask her why she had so much task;
Little did I know, it was all for me!
Who foolishly felt it wasn’t necessary.
How hurtful do you think it is to eventually see my mother’s effort going down the drain
She got nothing but disappointment in all her appointment
How inhumane, do you see it?
For a woman like her to be trashed for her right
To be abandoned for looking blindly to her partner’s fault
For a child like me whom she labored hardly for in her marital house to do nothing to ease her pain
I couldn’t fight for her when they misjudged her action and mistook her being for nothing
I watch her weep and wail
Helplessly seeking to end the tales of sorrow in her life
And all I could do to help is watch!
Should I not compliment her hard work even after the people she trusted left her?
For the times she loved and cared for me,
I have nothing to offer
I’m helpless, hopeless and incapacitated
I need to feed the woman who always loved me with love in return
Her efforts need to be rewarded or else I will be an ingrate
Tell me if I am an ingrate or not
As I quietly watch her suffering and smiling