So she was like an israelite, the uncertainties of the wilderness was nothing to do with the joy and allotries awaiting for her in Canaan

So mummy would be her fourth name she’d identify with even if her identity card would be small enough to hold on to the fact that she was one

Infact nine moons were nothing to deject her and if she had some sovereign ability to pull time, she’d do so for she believed that good things take time and that a full cycle would create something remarkable

Infact labor pains sounded like favor pains for it banged her mind that exceeding joy was coming, not by her giving birth as such but joy birthing broad cheeks for her

So she was amongst the first people on earth to set hands on joy for her child was tangible you see,

So she wasn’t a bouncing baby boy, but a bouncing baby mama for she was bouncy of hope and joy knitted together

From nymph, larva, pupa, the insect would be full enough, mature enough to fly unjudged of the size of the wings or the size of the landing surface,

So she believed that her toddler will attend school she herself was unfortunate to set foot on, try through thick and thin to light the candle from both ends so her child would have a bright start

So with a tight schedule and murphy’s law would be a proven worth to fix the dents tougher than gaviscon double action,

So if the child would be used to a stick brush, mummy would be the sensodyne she’d recommend dentists to

So the years drew open to close infancy by the open doors of some classroom for the child,

Although in some local school, the uniform was world-class, sewn from hope and love knitted from mother to child

But who’s time, time grew faster than the child himself and soon he was celebrating his fourteenth birthday, so if she’d opted to start some company, would be celebrating fourteenth anniversary

And if the world was to give her a name, her fourth name would be celebrity for her compitence would be doubtful if she were to attend a job interview but not that pertaining pain, persistence and parenthood

Poverty is not an attendant in every man’s restaurant of life but puberty is always the boiling point of every man’s chemistry of life

So he was now not in the kindergarten, primary but secondary school, so primarily things took another course of youthfulness full of emptiness to distinguish good from evil

So she came to understand why a football coach talks more and is more tactical during half time for solid come back and glamorous results,

So she talked more, thought more and sifted more/some nuggets of wisdom, so to her skill set she now was becoming a very good motivational speaker

So she was now not rolling models for him but rolling him for herself that if he wouldn’t make a good son, she’d tailor an impeccable mother

Time pushed him for another two years when in a secondary school, years of self discovery and curiosity over anything

So he was weird, feared and all were now adding up to shambles in sheer youthfulness

So he didn’t want school anymore although school was busy beckoning him for him, but he wouldn’t because the course of school in him was not in game

He was weird although many at times “am ok” were his words not to mummy alone but to daddy, uncles and friends

He was ok, ok to be out of school and advice out of his to do list,

It wasn’t after a week or month, my memory about it is fazzy, but I won’t forget that mummy found a suicide note, don’t ask me what happened, it’s yet row to deep a finger in this scar

So he passed, passed the examination of self doubt, trauma and stoism,

He failed, failed to understand when problems are shared, every word meets a direct solution and life becomes a rhyme of truth and reality and that’s the rhythm of sound mind we’d dance so ears would shine not with earrings but with earphones of hope and change

So sodomy and bullying at school convinced him to take his life and give it to sheol before burning coals and hailstones of any unforeseen shortcomings befell him, ase far as soddom and gomorrah are concerned,

So it’s easy, easy to accept cookies in a website and even tread miles to buy cookies in some distant bakery, but its hard to accept burrying a sun

An heavenly body to represent you in the sky when your feet are feeble to chase the sky and stand high above

How do you burry a son even if you know how to catch some shovel and throw soil on a casket of one who was to bring home some shopping basket when time is come?

How do you burry a sun when it’s yet dawn and wet and the tears of push are yet row and only his hands are fit enough to wipe away the tears?

So she wept of the hole he left in her heart, and maybe be God knew it kept the heart on the left chest for things have not been right since then,

Thank you

By James Musau

#poetictuesdays