Come with me child of my mother
To the sand-grained school yard
Where seats the isolated swing.
Feet high in the air,
Giggling to the whoosh of the harmattan breeze
I summon you to let go of the fears that fetter your mind.
Swing back into the aura of your roots
And embrace the delicate weavings that is your umbilical cord.
Gaze into the welcoming eyes of she who held you at birth,
And know that you have been conceived of love.
Swing forth then toward the sun’s glory
And let your doubts with spade, be buried.
Daughter of my mother,
Pride of the Iroko tree that flourished on arid ground,
Ballad sung in praise of the tapper’s palm wine.
Dig your heels in and with purpose and strength,
Plant today that you may harvest tomorrow.
May your sons humour you with nostalgic melodies from their flutes at dusk
And when the long night comes,
Set you sail with songs befitting of a sage.
Child of my mother your soul is imbued
With vestiges of the peace you seek.
About the Author
Bembe Ashibel is a freelance writer who writes for fun and self-engagement. Her writing mirrors her love for service and humanity. She writes about self-awareness and preservation and personal development. Her philosophy is hinged on the principle of community and collectivism. When she’s not writing, she enjoys long walks in nature, traveling, reading and photography. She hopes to provide succor and mental support through her writing.