You have broken the vows
And crumbled the cultural heritage
You have undressed before the children
And sold your nudity to interlopers

You have gone to bed again
Slept with the aliens like a sporting lady
You have stretched your left hand
With a bowl to the East
And your right hand like a pauper to the West

Mama, You have conceived again
So fast like a ruttish rabbit
What is that in your womb
A male child , a messiah
Or is it war that you are yet to sire?

The frogs are moarning in the sea
The oceans are yearning for abortion
pleading with you Mama
Listen to their woeful cries
And protect the waters from turning red

Trees are quacking with fear
Birds are shivering in their nests
The ancestors are murmuring with grieve in graves
The wind is carrying a stench of blood
Mama, what’s that in your womb?

Your offsprings are weeping from the desert
Torments of the past living in their dreams
their future looks dark and grubby
Mama, when time is ripe for labour
Never give birth to war again

what about your starved kids
will you push the nipples of your breasts into their mouths
And feed them with blood and tears
Or just breastfeed them with milk and honey?

By Cliff The Poet

rights reserved


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