Midnight War With Mosquitoes

The cry of my baby tears through the night, again Waking everyone, including the birds whom use our tattered raffia hut as nest I know why she cries though The small giant has used her long thin deadly needle to bite her Even though our outworn mosquito net is tattered and now has holes as big as a ditch That gives you no permission to feast on us, for we are still under its covering I dragged my sleepy self up Tied the points where old age and years of use has caused our shield to tear I carried my baby; put her mouth near my sagging bosom But with another thunderous wail, she declined Now, I know my eyes will know no sleep I reached for my raffia made broom under my bamboo bed And waited like a soldier with a gun Broom in hand, I stood up and sang A lullaby for her with my drowsy voice She obliged and slept And now the war has begun Broom in hand, I sat on the piles of old and worn out clothes My baby and I use as mattress Waiting like a soldier defending her territory If our mosquito net is old and lacks strength THIS BROOM WILL DO YOU JUSTICE!