Lucy … ping!
Ping… are you listening…ping!
Lucy…
I reminisce the murmurs from my late mother, murmurs that led to conversations
Every night before I surrendered to bed
Mummy needed space to count her coins from the day hustle
To count her one shilling coins that rarely reached fifty
I too needed time to read overnight, time to curse poverty
While others were dreaming and anticipating the outcome of living
She, on the other hand, was just too shy of her outcome…
Mummy didn’t live a full swing, but for the half-swing she lived
She provided half shades for the depressed, the lost
And for me who thought that I had few spells to live
Mummy left, left me with a coin, to figure out the tomorrow me.
Every day before the sun is in full swing fading, I make hay and when the moon rises, I plan on how to use it, they say I’m a miser.
I pay courtesy to all the rubrics they laid for us, that I may not be driving along anyone’s lane, that I may not receive any curse.
I suffer the stress they call the better way to success, dream all the good dreams, that I may not poison my mind.
I often walk for myself and guard my dialogue when with others, that I may not lose my speech for the tomorrow me.
I’ve learnt to realize that life isn’t a competition
Though sometime I take pride and picture out on my tomorrow with the ‘abled’
At the end I find myself losing meaning of the coin that mum left me
I’ve come to admit that pride is just a lie, a lie that I have to get rid of
And seek for the truth the truth that I already have with me that I am poor,
And I have to make hay for the tomorrow me.
I see myself in the process of success,
I see myself blessing the depressed, widows and orphans
I see myself flying
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