When You See My Mother

Tell her she is the moon- She does not belong to the kitchen and other rooms like our first lady Her eyes is the satellite of the earth. . . Tell her she is the sun- That corruption can't cover at noon Her dimples creates love channels Where poetry salutes many lips. . . Tell her she is a dancer- Her legs tells thousand stories Of African tradition and culture Not of hatred and abuse of mankind. . . Tell her she is a singer- With a tonic voice of nightingale Not like a venom of an envy snake Her tongue is the sea of hope. . . Tell her that her love made me Wiggle like a drunk prostitute It made me lost in God's eyes My dance awaits her breastful days. . . Tell her I won't make her eyes wet She belongs to the throne not kitchen She shall build another wall of China Not in her season shall women rejected. . . Tell her she a mother not a whore! Our lives began from her womb like Nature began from God's poetry lips Tell her that I am coming home soon. . . A drummer she is among the drummers Many voices echoe from her hands She is not an inexperienced kite that Made fun of the itself by carrying the duck. (C) John Chizoba Vincent Voice Of Vincent 2016