A woman of steel;
Love, emotions, her feel.
Hard on the outside, tender within.
Her voice, the sound of a violin.
Not indulgent, masked austere and scolds.This beauty’s her seal.
Responsibilities; her neck chains a mighty wheel.
“Lessen your burden,” I hence appeal.
She frames my thoughts and catches my tears before they begin.
In her embrace, i’m an infant with no sin.
Her smile, my glow. Her love, my life made real.
My mother is a woman to adore
In her city, she’s a veil every woman wore.
She could play deaf to be a good listener,
Climb a ladder of notes to be a sound singer,
And still be the sales girl serving in every store.
My mother has a sense of humor
If you go by her frown, you wouldn’t see more
She’d make the table cleaner
And serve my father dinner
But his plates would be empty to even the score.
My mother! She is the queen
Her true color is not red from what I’ve seen.
She wielded sinners who stole from the pot,
even the devil feared her hearty-plot,
He asked God why her eyes and heart was sheen.
Her prayerful hands were also mean
they washed off my lies and made me clean.
Her kalangu’ voice made us strut
till we joined her choir and it meant a lot.
I still love her laugh it’s sweet like a spleen.
There’s more to mama than thought.
Preciously can’t be bought.
Tender lips kissing.
Better intentions she be meaning.
Battles that are mine she fought.
Mama, words are all I’ve brought.
In my heart, the space you occupy can’t be bought.
In restless moment on you I find myself leaning.
Unselfish love you be giving.
There is more to mama than I thought.
My mother has endured a lot,
There’s wisdom in her to be sought.
When my ills go unchecked
And in fury I have wrecked,
Her fist will always tie my nut.
Her turntable is always the pot,
mixing survival and all she’s got.
Laser eyes that are specked
My growing horns, her slaps had decked.
Her story is a mega plot.
True, there is!
How she still carries a Miss
Right where Mrs. Should be
There is more to mama and me
I agree with you little niece!
Ninety six and buzzing like a thousand bees!
Mother needs to answer my quiz!
How for miles she can see?
And sprint like a deer from one knee?
By hook or crook, her witchery must cease!
My mother! my weapon in life
A prayer warrior, a loving wife
Her words don’t fall to the ground
Her warning is an obnoxious sound
Yet I receive her song with little strife
My mother my living knife
Piercing every wolf who raises his ugly drive
A precious stone I have found
A product no man can bound
A great being, she is still alive