Mother was a broken glass
shattered on my skin
piercing through my soul
digging deep and deep
like dance steps of shame
at the frontline of wolves
she was broken like
peace in Gaza and Tripoli
with living debris for
years unseen
Mother was a loosed fire
in harmattan, grazing
everyone at home day by day
with innocent looks of a baby
she became unquenchable
like graft in Niger area
Mother is an inferno
burning our skin daily
with no signs of dying soon
Mother is a tempest
raging my heart with
storms and thunder
killing my hopes with
her prideful goodie bags,
packs of pains, shame and fate
hitting the neighborhood
unruly like case of Africa
and bad governance
Mother is a bag of galls,
whips, cactus, denial and thorns
Mother is a broken glass
Mother is the naked woman
smiling at the market square.
