Previous Challenge Entry (Level 3 - Advanced)
Topic: PEACE (12/02/21)
-
TITLE: Song of a Baby | Previous Challenge Entry
By Robert Rutaagi
12/09/21 -
LEAVE COMMENT ON ARTICLE
SEND A PRIVATE COMMENT
ADD TO MY FAVORITES
My dear sweetie Mom,
Who bore me into this harsh world
Of sorrow, hunger and loneliness…
And baby-chains of disability,
Come and baby-feed me,
From those delicious teats,
Or else, loudly, I weep!
Dear sweetie mother,
As I here lie, in my baby coat,
Under these soft layettes,
And baby-hood chains
Of biological disability,
I pray that you come,
From where-ever you may be,
Mom, and, simply, touch me;
Or else, loudly, I weep!
Dear God,
Who cares for me and mom,
Tell me in my mom’s mother tongue,
Which You know better than me,
What I command in this cruel world,
Except her, and my capable tongue.
Tell me now, oh God!
Or else, loudly, I weep.
Dear Mother,
Whose maternal tutelage,
I deeply cherish,
Ask my arrogant father this:
Why can’t he attend to me,
The same way you do, mom?
Whisper to me or else, loudly, I weep.
Dear sweetie mom,
All I need in this harsh world,
Is for you and my God,
To accept this, my humble prayer:
God protect my mom;
Mom, always touch me,
Breast feed me always;
All I ask for is a clean baby coat,
And a good, white, round potty -
Or else, loudly, I weep.
Sweetie mom,
Never leave me in a room alone,
Without light or candle!
Darkness scares me –don’t you know?
And when you’ve come,
Don’t pick me with one hand!
It scares me pretty much.
Sweetie mom… uh-uh-uh!
Never trust me to daddy!
His hands damage my feeble skin.
Should he pick me before you do, save me
Or else, loudly, I weep.
Sweetie mom,
When I have cried really hard and for long,
Come quickly and cock my little mouth
With that delicious teat, in turns: left and right –
Rest me gently on your laps, in your soft hands,
Looking on my pretty face
As I stare on your gorgeous face,
Sublime joy, transcending all understanding,
Will descends upon me you, mom.
Mom, with your teat in my mouth,
Crying will be no more.
Wrapped in your soft hands, on your laps,
Our eyes fixed on one another,
Staring, at blank nothingness
I shall pull from those teats
As I do from a cerelac a cup,
Or gulp fanta from a bottle with a straw.
As the fitful baby moment plays on
And all cries so easily forgotten,
Like atmospheric pressure, the baby-pull
Does the much needed nourishment.
Likewise, mom, simply, surrenders to maternal instinct
As the sugary stuff responds to the baby-pull.
As the joyous current slithers through her mammary glands-
Mystically spreading throughout her entire biological constitution,
Where-ever it passes, it leaves metric tons of joy.
As mom and her babe, relax in contentment,
As if prompted, like a digital cursor,
She involuntarily imprints a salubrious kiss
Onto her replica’s twittering cheeks-
Sending another metric ton of joy
A message to the universe - through her heart,
Like John Newton did when he sang:
‘’Amazing grace how sweet the sound…!
She burst out into a frenzied unrepeatable maternal song.
Jubilate Hymns, John Newton [1725-1807].
The opinions expressed by authors may not necessarily reflect the opinion of FaithWriters.com.
Accept Jesus as Your Lord and Savior Right Now - CLICK HERE
JOIN US at FaithWriters for Free. Grow as a Writer and Spread the Gospel.
