Production of the Replica
The midday sun scorches her back
Sweat seeps through her feeble body
As her nerves carry messages from her brain
To make her muscles cooperate
So she could stand and move around
Inside her body a helpless guest with very special needs
Hanging head downwards between cliffs of her bone
Shot with delicate spasms
With hair painted upon his skull
The wretched visitor did not come out until it was ready
The stress of delivery became more and more
In only nine months the single fertilized cell
became a fully developed baby.
An amazingly complex organization of some billions of cells
Undeterred, she kept on pushing relentlessly but fatigued
The midwife held some materials attached to a dinner-plate-size device
Shouting: Push! Push! Push!
Swinging hand to and from across the deep hole
Dropping to different directions and starts digging
With urgent jabs the small head penetrates the hard earth.
Could it be a female?
Could it be a male?
As the hole deepens, eyes were strained for a hint
Suddenly, ears quicken as the high-pitched whistle
Descends to a guttural clicking noise—A sure sign
that the visitor has arrived
After the production, how tired she was!
Behold, I shall celebrate this diligent producer
For she has done the toughest job a woman could do
In pain she produced her replica
In joy should she reap the reward
Sweet mother, will I ever forget you?
Copyright © Adeniji Toluwalope Gideon | Year Posted 2016
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