I write to heavens for thy nation (vii)
To the Ones
Whose breast have fed thousands
I write of...
Dear Heaven,
I write to you,
the mothers whose names
are a name carved in a tomb
forever new and fresh.
Of the mothers
whose stories hides
behind tired eyes.
The ones, who wakes
before the cocks crow
And sleeps after the moon
has left for home.
The ones whose hands have
become a map traveling through pain
The mothers who boil a cup of rice
And pray it feed ten thousand,
Just like Jesus did.
The woman who fed smiles to her eggs
While feeding on worry and tears.
Of mothers who sit with pain
still waiting for their missing egg.
Did you count the pillows
soaked by silent prayers?
Did you see the nights
mothers wrestled with fear?
Did you count how many tears
have fallen to their soup pot
while we call it delicious?
Dear Heavens,
Their backs are bending,
their eyes are failing
Yet, their hope remains an ocean.
To You, their secret prayers.
Do see them.
And let them taste the soup of peace.
Funmilayo Bayo
funmiwrites.