poems

Her Black Son

Her Black Son
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A boy at three, I knew my age,
I embraced my heritage, tightly wrapping my tiny
slender arms around her with the innocence of tender
age.

A boy at five, I opened my eyes to the dawn of knowledge,
face to face with the mirror, limelight!
My Identity staring at me, fair and fresh to see;

The brownie dough like face, in oval carves, with crystal brown eyes sitting inches across ,
buried in-between was a suspended nose to separate the twin,
downwards it went in slimiest hill to what I thought was the lightest tear of skin,
curvedly lying-in vermillion’s dye,
an important hollow to bury delight and quench thirst as well as empty belly,

Flank to each side was a flag with likeness of the softest rose,
hanging at bare to compliment the dough, an eager ear to hear,

To this fair art was nature’s link, the hands that dough beauteous did,
through me human soul cast in beauty’s mould,
And surety to say, my comeliness did cups darling eyes,
Ah me! even my tiny eyes lying deep in beauteous dye, testified.

A boy at ten it was a dry walk from five,
Our quiet home, I couldn’t speak boastfully among peers,
I sat in-between two hearts that throbs for me,
One bigger heart with the both of us to care,
I saw her do hard labour in time of needs,
and admire her singlehood in awe,

In my innocence I saw this woman whose heart was overwhelmed
with the benignant touch of love and sacrifice, she baked with no wealth bread of good health,
All her goodness she did by day and night,

In rain, in tempest, in the harshness of sunshine, and in the blinding dustiness of frosty harmattan wind,
Ah! I shall myself blame my memory if I forget to include, in the poorest of times she oft says

“I shall strife even, till my vein stop, but never shall I let these two sweet flocks that I rear perish of empty bowels, but in whirlwind, I shall weather the storm and buy them bread”

Like blood drop from the heart, her goodness grew like leaping torrent, and sailed me to adolescent.

A man at twenty,
I was taught good,
But greener pastures were paramount, having not laid on the leaves that makes the softest bed, but on the rough and roughest patches of life,
Yes, I took her knowing’s, she held me by her arm and I felt the warmness of both motherhood and fatherhood, but it was time to go,
To seek greener grounds, for then I saw greener grounds faraway,

A man at twenty and five score,
I cannot tell, I do not know

“Why is this strange”; said I.
For, here are woods, and green-hills, warm farmlands,
“There surely must some reason be”
I have tilled the grounds and ploughed the green farmlands,
all this I toiled the soil in vain, yield not.

A man at Twenty and thirty counting close,
My thought and former believe of ease dwindles,
I talk to myself in Idleness,

A day like this to think, and think, and think again;
With so much happiness at spare only for reason, the grace to live,
While I build castles in the air,
staring blankly at the large farmlands I have for this year ploughed,

Poet : Smile Austin

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