Oh, my Dear Precious mum
You are the cause of my birth
You are the core of this earth
You are my dear, precious mother
In this world and the other
Oh my dear great mum
As young I didn’t realize
Your big love and its size
But now a mother myself
You are the soul of my life
Oh my dear little mum
My parents, my sisters and brother
Our memories altogether
As alive as books on a shelf
You cared for us more than yourself
Oh my dear lovely mum
Oh, my dear little mum
Your affection is an anthem
I still remember,
My Dear Precious Mother
Oh my dear wise mum
Whenever I had a fever
You always got hotter
And instead of being tired
You quickly get inspired
Oh my dear generous mum
You sang me beautiful lyrics
Then kissed me on the cheeks
Now like you, a grand mother
Emotions make me bother
Oh my dear marvellous mum
How many years, how many times
How many beautiful feelings and emotions
Have you live and experienced?
And to our love you are sentenced.
Oh my dear unique mum
But now so weak and so old
Alone with no one around
Grazing your souvenirs
With your sighs and your tears
Oh my dear miraculous mum
Your heart is all forgiveness
Your gestures are all tenderness
I beg your pardon now and then
Oh my dear wonderful mum
I love you as much as I can
To Allah is all my praise
For my years and my days
For my parents my best prize.
Oh my dear prodigious parents
Copyright © ZINE Hadjira
Don't Look Under the Bed
- by Bob Atkinson
..........Oliver Goldsmith tells the story ....
out walking for his health
a man spied his friend of years on pathway
how "are you sir?" he asked with smile
"not well" the gent replied back, looked terrified
"... what happed sir to create this stir
you seem so stressed this day
do you feel under the weather
perhaps you should stand in shade? ..."
the man then told his story
one of dubious glory
had come home early yesterday
and found his wife not at her work
lying without on her bed
no stitch of clothes or hat on head
had looked down and seen some shoes
not his size, but a style he knew
looking further had seen his friend
under the bed with open hand
covering body parts unnamed
a context which him inflamed
"... hmmmm the first man perused
this situation's not so unusual
a fix of gross proportions
one of life's heartless distortions
the gent began to lament
how he's sending wife to mother
divorcing within the week
slapping her with lawyer on each cheek
his friend then held up hand to stop
this track of mind which he thought
not a path one should take
in this situation of disgrace
"friend," he said with saddened tone
"you have no witness on your own
just your word against your lover
should you really send her to her mother?
your word against her own
you'll alimony pay through the nose
and half your wealth will be disposed
to this woman of lover spoken
best never again look under her bed
when you come home you should slam
front door hard to make some noise
yell 'Honey I'm Home' loudly in bright tones"
thus, the gent saw sense in this
went home with smile to his sweetness
"Honey I'm home," he loudly declared upon entry
he never again looked under bed or pantry
Copyright © Bob Atkinson
Pride, Joy, unconditional love, football, hockey, baseball games, these are a few things that went through my head, when I realized I was having a son.
Watching my tummy grow, feeling you do flips, kicking me endlessly in my ribs, my goodness, I guess I shouldn't have eaten that spicy food after all but mom has to eat.
Hearing your heartbeat the first time brought tears to my eyes, knowing you were healthy, was all I needed to know. Finally on July 28th of 98, I got to meet you, my newborn son. Surprised by your big blue eyes, you were a beautiful sight. I had to catch my breath, when I found out your birth weight, all ten pounds, nine ounces and 22,inches long, My God what did I eat?
The first one to hold you was your proud dad, he had love in his eyes, his life in his arms, He helped give you your very first bath. An instant connection he felt, forever it will last.
My bond between a mother and son is like nothing else, my favorite time was when I was feeding you, with you feeding off my breast. My precious son Joshua, a young manyou are becoming, forever you have my heart.
Copyright © Jennifer Donnay
Though that day was dry
But still that mother long cry
Would not stop me from making a try.
I know how rigid the wall
I know how strong 's the mall
And that made me tall.
Though Whiskey held my lip
And rolled me off to strip
But it wouldn't stop me from trip.
Though it 's at first painful
But now it 's the most beautiful
And before God, I will still be grateful.
I know she did it for fun
And not realise what it 'd turn
But before God, she don't have to run.
Though that day was dry
But still that mother long cry...
Copyright © Abdulhafeez Oyewole
The Christmas lights shine while the temple bells
Toll. The baby lies bloody on the bed- 'delivered'.
Its dusk, a shade of grey dusk but again a dark blue
Around the corner; not a sound did roll nor did light
Strike and it slept. Hush baby... they will come! Among
Her broken toys and impaled dolls she sleeps like the
Child of time- she is black.
Again, the star shined and the bells tolled and they came- all over her,
They trampled and burnt her sins away. Smoke and soot and hell fire
Rained everyday and she took it all in. Like the voracious petals of the
Venus fly trap, those lips of hers engulfed them and stayed content.
It lay in the night... At least she had the night. She was content. Slowly
The saffrons, the whites and the greens entered her hollow being
Day after day and she did not know where they came from.
Even the one to be delivered that rested inside her grew impatient.
It broke free and she lost. It was buried amidst the fanfare and
Ho hum of those colors. The same colors that devoured her sins
And had her delivered, and now they lie in constant wait for the
Reigns to break so the stake is theirs to burn. The witch must burn.
The Green must burn, the saffron must be severed and the white
blackened they thought.
The witch died, and so did they but not the colors. As the
Child in time sleeps under every roof, so does those black eyes
With glowing fangs, under the bed. Just below the flesh
And the wooden bed, you can hear it breathe and crave blood
And carnage. Every street, every devil's bend, every wall bears
Its name. Yet it hides, kills, plunders and hides. Yet another
Deliverance and another coming against the eclipsed sun.
Tomorrow if a life is born I shall warn and mourn and curse
The deliverance coz the colors will lie in wait under its bed.
Sharp talons and itchy fingers waiting for it to blossom and
Tear it up in pieces. Yes! This is our deliverance... We all shall
Be delivered some day. But, I hope my child of time is colorblind
And comatose- Maybe dead. For then it wont hear the evil crawling
Under its bed, see them on the streets and feel them inside itself.
That day will be her baptism and maybe she will wake...
© Malyaban Lahiri
Copyright © Malyaban Lahiri
I do not know?
Life is frail
And death is rigid
Breaking a soul’s silence
Where crying shadows are frigid
In the beating halls of hallow hearts
As flickering candles echo in the dark
When motherhood begins
Life blesses death
And holy fathers sterilize sin
Copyright © Xavier Keough