Yesterday, I saw a child look at his mother
With a gaze I suspect to be love.
And I heard the far away cackle of fear
Spanks from the corrective rod.
Those eyes will bleed salty moist
And that tongue will come to know
the bitter taste of desperation.

Today, he learns to search,
Big bottles and breasts
Hour-glass figure in a fine-fitted fabric
For bits and bits of happiness
Wet tongues and thighs
And a little tint of affection
The one only she can give.

And tomorrow, when the rain beats little dirges from our roof
Or the heat becomes quit notices and bottles get broken.
The warmth of her empathic shoulder will his resting be.

In a future not so far.
He’ll come to know a search to be,
Not for love or happiness
But for a mother, aunt, sister, friend.
For a home, where the african woman dwells.

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