Once a lass,

Now Mother of great heroes

Whose weaved beauty is peerless

With her threaded breasts

Which for long stood;

Like fresh oranges

In years of told and untold thorns


At this dusk, 

I wail for a fading mother

Who in endless

Parades with empty breasts;

One Suckled to scorn by our own brothers

Who now Glory in shame with her fame.

Now in fallen bosoms

Yet, behold her in splendours

Even afternoon two scores and seventeen swords have pierced the marrow of her being.

I have stayed behind bridges;

Of heavenly hell in west,

Yet, mother’s home, the best.

God bless this mother

That she may soon see the mating of the sun and sea.

Wisdom C. Nwoga

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