Mama

She always treads far from home to make us be far from hunger
The sun always hard on her to make life easier on us
And when going doesn’t keep her because the work is hard,
She always keeps going and works hard
I never see sweat roll down her chin but flowers instead
So the is always the impulse behind her resilience
And her skin the reservoir of hope and life
With hard work, she adorns our table of life with flowers
But with love, care and faith, a banquet rests at at that table
So rose will always say that valentine is never once a year for us
Although born and bread in slums,
Bread and butter has never been a vocabulary
I’ll say more on her in next slam fest
I always admire the fact that she lives her life as long as her life doesn’t leave her
The fact that when we busy listening to good music,
She’s always listening to the monotonous music of our tummies empty of hope
And her rythimic hard work always breaking the monotony
The fact that when we always thinking of going abroad, she always thinks on broadways to make our days festive
And always on supa loaf and maybe kingsmill will for once make our meals sumptuous
So that even when we fail to know how it feels to live in a palace
We’d always feel how it feels like to dine like a kingsmen
The fact that when we busy watching movies, she’s busy pondering on the next move
To maximize her capabilities
But having done her best
And when I take after her
And maybe care for her in her last days as she on my first days
So when I get to walk, I’ll let her sit and see me hunt
I’ll climb every tree and bring every fruit down for her
So she always live with passion, glow like an orange in the market
And understand that she’s loved like mangoes in summer
And if she’ll want fish, I’ll be there to fly to the deep and bring it for her
And even dive to air and have the dove right at her hand
And maybe refine the air air seven times, so she’ll always breath fresh air
I want to need to make life better by setting her foot at Westlands
I can as well help her make the most out of our wastelands
I won’t need to go to middle east to have her eat
For the sun also shines at the South gate of hopelessness
So one has to choose either to busk or make hay
And when she begins to live on nun
I’ll be there to provide milk
So she’ll not have to wait till heavens come for milk and honey
She have all that here under the sun
And she’ll understand that she’s the everest that stands in our hearts
And her love will ever mount hope into our hearts than all the rest under the sun
And maybe she loaned us her time and commitment
For she’s the China we know
Thank you.

By

James Musau

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