Fifteenth November

Written by: Chuma Okonkwo

She had neither silver nor gold
But she raised me in comfort;
Out of nothing she raised me
With a heart of gold;
Heart made of divine touches
She nurtured me.

She is never a militiawoman
But she fights always for me;
Protects me like I’m “akwa ugo”- eagle’s egg

She is no great sculptor known to mankind
But she’s carved and molded my soul 
Into spectrums of my being

She is no bricklayer or a decorator
But she’s built a house in my heart
That will never fall apart
She’s decorated my heart glamorously
That not even a ‘tar can soil my white garment’

She is neither a good artist nor a painter
But she’s sketched and painted sublimely
Every shades of her being in my soul
That they are inexpungible

She is neither a novelist nor a poet
But she’s left a lofty novelette
And exalted poems that will remain eternal in my heart

You’re my gardener
The seeds you've planted in my soul
Will forever blossom
No 'womb' could have nurtured me better than you did.
Thank you for mothering me Mom!