Kunya
Of childhood and motherhood_ in verse
She often sat alone,
like Musa next door;
both first to mothers
yet sidelined, ignored
like bad equipment,
or street trash. Forgotten,
abandoned, and confused.
She ate to the wall,
at least, Musa was spared this;
her back to the world
like a slave girl though home,
or a disgraced thief.
Was this her worth?
Unloved, uncherished.
Her beauty came quickly,
but quicker were the suitors
hovering in their numbers,
like flies over an oozing sore.
Not Musa, the heart thief
that got her dreams so wet;
she couldn’t tell papa still.
Luckily, Musa came with family
and her heart was merry,
one good smile she thought;
but the knotting hadn’t any smiles.
Demanding salty falls of grief
or placid expression,
lest she disgraces her family.
Many wished her well,
words of prosperity,
flooding her with warmth
like lover’s gaze;
but her lips were sealed
shut tight by expectations.
Another spoke alien words for her.
It was hard for her, this reality
though none cared to ask
even worse with time
for she couldn’t shout or cry
as junior struggled out;
stretching to her limits,
pushing crippling pain.
Now she’s a mother too,
to a child she shouldn’t love;
not outwardly anyway.
Forced to torture sweet babe,
ignorant of her name too
like her mother was of hers
and the many others who jumped.
She journeys on incessantly,
surviving and breathing
and hoping for better days;
or was she fighting culture,
ways birthed before her mother,
like a disgusting traitor
or just another weak blackleg.
© Ngang God'swill N. 2019
