Labours Of Motherhood By Babalola Israel A

LABOURS OF MOTHERHOOD.

The day I escaped the womb,
The hours my mother dwells in pains of labour,
The minutes of dark hours,
and it all developed to a birthday.
the joy of motherhood.

Mother makes the back bed plain,
just to have a splendid time of rest.
You give the pleasing part of your breast
in the name of having sound in brain.

You never fall out of love, mother of the fathers.
You blow with your mouth,
the flem of my nose, to having a breathe of life.
When I'm sick, you are dying

When I worship the porcelain god,
you clean away  the dirty stains,
as happy as a sand boy,
then you are as happy as a lark.

You make me live beyond my means,
antagonist of bad tongue, not a wet blanket.
The backbone,
you take to arms for my comfort.

Many moons ago, you walk on water,
you almost go a moonlight fit.
Just to have the world at my feet,
Thanks for giving me fuel. Oh Mother!

I promise to be above board, Mother of sons
Pin your hope on me,
for I'm ready to get you the world in a cage.
I will put my money where my mouth is,
and get you the lion's share.

BABALOLA Israel A.
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