A Pikin to a Mother

There are no songs

To describe her

The bravery to have

A child in a cultured society

The shame and indignity of it

The danger of my last breath

Each night was the torture

Of her existence

The love she found

In my tiny eyes

And the courage to fight

For a life she knew

Was worth something

Her prophetic gifting to see

My life play out in the

Grace of God and

The willingness to give up

Every last penny for my

Health and future

Ignoring the sound of her

Empty stomach

She is the rock on which

My foundation was built on

A sinking cup of judgement Transformed into a Pillar

I have thought about the lives

I lived before

Him that commands the waves

Brought me out from the sinking sand

Of hollow metallic disturbance

Of shapes of the different

Bruises left on the skin

Of my innocent body

Taken by the eyes of

The one who was suppose

To be my guardian

I was bricked in

Flogged by the daily

Guilt for shame of

Wanting to be loved in his embrace

But still afraid of the

Thoughts and stirs of the

Neighbours eyes that

Looked too deep on my skins

Deep shallow marks

I saw no pity, arm stretch in confusion

Only judgement of my bruises

And curses labelled on me

For what I didn’t

Understand or asked for