Dear mother

She bears a lot of offspring and clothes them in many colors 
They are gifts to the world.
Some are hostile, while others are hostages 
She is just like any other mother that gives birth to children with different personalities
Don't throw blames at her 
She did her best to raise them in fear and trembling.
She inscribed her culture in their heart and wraps tradition around their neck.

Oh poor mother 
Look at her
Who shall instill in her offspring those values again? 
She was at peace with her children until the sea vomits aliens on her shores.
They tore her up and ravage her hut.
Stole her ornaments and her children.
Oh poor mother 
She grief her lost sons.

Her daughters were spit upon with scorn.
Their virginity was like a flower to them.
Look what those pride of lions did to your daughters, oh dear mother.
They took her cherished flower.
Her story was told through tears and pain.
She was forced to dance with the burden of pain and her husband slain in her presence.

Listen, dear mother
Listen to the voice of your children in the wilderness.
A strange home with no drums to dance to at night. 
Or the sweet melodious sound of the horn wavering through the wind in the solitude of the night.

Oh poor mother
Your children can no longer recognize the baobab tree you sat under and tell those folktales 
Their home seems alienated to them now 
They look at your sweet-savory food with a perplexed gaze.

The sound of your language is strange to their ears 
They can no longer understand your tongue, dear mother 
They are now strangers to their brothers.

Dear mother, I think you lost your children 
What shall I tell them to remind them that they were birthed from you?

I shall show them my skin color and scar!
I shall continue to call out their names 
I shall not relent.

Written by: Elijah Enenche Peter.
©The Night Owl Poetry (2022).