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New Sores Become Old Sores and Grow To Mature Into Scars

I saw blue memoirs fell from momma's eyes, as she looked into my brown retinas. Swiftly she removed my medicated glasses, a dominant gene I carved out from papa's bottled eyes. "Oh!  sorry D!," She whispered! "Its just a matter of time new sores become old sores and grow to mature into scars"  she cried as she looked into my eyes. Eventide dawned upon us like golden mist as I was flown into the nurses moonlit; in a bird with twinkling red optical, double paired rubber legs, iron facials. The nurses at stand dished us mother care attention. Ice dangled in her eyes. Momma is smiling joy painfully at me.  As I stole
 a look at her brown embattled face, I pictured her retinas glued to drenches. The ice now fell from her eyes. With my octopus years, my feet has trod this egg shaped earth. 

 And the world seemed to pass so swiftly on me like a shutter's speed. I  could see the skyline walking on the tightropes of my memories, like flashbacks in a cinema film, laying on 
this medic bed. My belly could only be facing down while my electrified toasted back kissed the wind escaping in through the casement.---yak!!!! 

And the only mirror I could have afforded to reflect my per boiled back is my momma's pair of brown camera eyes, but here they are ice dank. I thought. It could be fun and warmly, laying on the pressing iron, left on the bed in our unisex room, after long being used by aunt Lydia. I couldn't tell its degrees with my brownie eyes. But my steamed back did, so it kissed it metal surface---and here we are, "  In a toast of roastful love,' underneath nurses moonlit with 
my mauve skin. 

And the needles! o no! I hated needles. Two prickles a day!, yahhhk! my bum bum like Evans rickety bike. I heard Evans my best pal crying along in the neighborhood, while I was being rushed into the medic bird. With his grey coloured panties, hung on his waist like tarzan.
He did be jerking bitterly. I and Evans jolly good mates had known each other since the neighborhood old. His curly dark hair, and owl eyes tells you he is indian...

An excerpt from my book " momma's camera eyes"

Copyright © Gideon Idudje | Year Posted 2022


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Date: 12/30/2022 6:28:00 AM

Thanks for sharing this. By God's grace, I greet you with the peace and joy of Christmas and prosperous New Year along this present: "the gift of God is eternal life through Jesus Christ our Lord" (Romans 6:23 of the King James Bible). God bless you.