Written by Favour Oseigbovo
Like a bird who has lost its beak, I have lost myself in my mother’s fears buried within remnants of her lonely life. It dances around her worrisome scalp, she wears it like a glorified map. She too is lost, in societal turmoil, her existence enveloped in the edicts of a caged norm.
I see her tears hiding in her knotted wrappers, I feel her pains underneath the bags in her eyes, for she has sold her nights to fear, her days to worry and her will to anxiety. She has sold her life fighting what does not haunt her. I see her fighting the demon that inundated father, causing him to forget the path home and find delight in the laps of his daughter.
I see mother worming her sons in the path of bondage for her reality is a lie. I see her opposing locks because they are the devil’s handmaid, rebuking tattoos for they are the core of irresponsibility. I see my mother draining the vapour of misery down her throat. I see her flushing her happiness with hope, an exaggerated name for pain. She wishes to live through her sons, a mere vacuum existing in the shell of a human body.
I long for a time where mother rids herself from her self-imposed exile as she learns a son’s lifestyle isn’t a factor of happiness. A time she relents in her race for perfection while we learn the true definition of solitude and find delight in our indifference.