Tell Me Mother
What is the colour of beauty?
What are the lines that mark her forms?
They said, ‘you are a boy from a bush tribe’
They said, ‘you are a child of an ugly mother’
Child, said mother
Tell them my naked scars are streaks of splendor
My marred face is a mirror of our whooping world
Tell them that these worn out feet of healed bruises
Speak sweetly of staggering triumphs
And raked the swamps in tireless search of logs
Tell them my palms stiffened by seared drudgery,
Fought on the fraying field to give you your today
My hoarse throat towered down hate and prejudice
These are the garlands of our beauty
For you who drink the sweet waters of our sweats
The fresh water of liberty borne by tears
Who turn our mind’s misery to monuments
And turn our troubles to tributes
To you we throw the torch and pass the baton
That you also may break the records
And beat the heights we climbed
Copyright © Olugbenga Hodonu | Year Posted 2015
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