Sit me next to her beneath
the same dark cloud
that hovers and fulminates,
grey and gloom.
Let me feel the pain and aches
of weary bones in a putrid soul,
drench me in echoes of groans
and moans
of a body that writhes and twists in
violent jerks
rejecting the very life pined over
and prayed for.
The windows to her being
a misty-haze, downcast,
extirpating what zeal is left
forever longing for that one day
when feeling will be extrinsic.
They huddle beside her,craving
her touch,
once warm and soothing
now flaccid and frosty,
as if they too, sense their mother's
demise creeping nearer to thee,
savoring each moment as if it were
last.
The hushed whispers of a voice broken,
tormented by watchful eyes of thy fruit
of the womb,
pleading and begging for her
perpetual breath lest they be mother-less.
Let me wail with her
when she weeps for her children
when she curses the past and admonishes
the future depriving her,her heart's
importune,
allow me to impale her clattered mind,
pick through her thoughts to understand
and not judge.
On her death bed,discouraged
she waits,
only fate can take away...
By Catherine Magodo Mutukwaa
