OH MOTHER!!

MY HEAD ACHES,
MY TUMMY RUMBLES,
AND THE LOO IS ABOUT TO CRUMBLE

,
OH MY SON!!
HARKEN TO THE VOICE OF A PEASANT,
WHY MAKE MY WORLD TUMBLE?
THE GRAINS WE EAT,
I FIND IN THE RAINS.
THE PENNY I HAVE,
WAS GIVEN BY MANY

,
WHEN THE SHADOWS OF THE EARTH,
FALLS UPON THE RAGING SUN
AND THE CHANTING OF WAR SONGS,
ENDS THE BEAT OF THE GONG.
I WILL SET FOR THE MILLS
BEHIND THE SEVEN MOUNTAINS OF THE HILLS
TO BRING FORTH YOUR PILLS


,
THE POSTER MAN ARRIVES
JUST LIKE THE PESTILENCE RAVAGING A CITY
I HEARD THE VOICE OF SILENCE.
HE WORE THE SCENT OF SORROW
AND WITHOUT A CONSCIENCE OF HIS OWN
HE STRECTHED FORTH HIS HANDS.
MY TEARS FELL TO MY DRESS


JUST LIKE THE WIND,
MY SON I SEE NO MORE.
JUST LIKE THE RAINBOWS IN THE SKY,
HIS COLORS I SEE NO MORE
THE QUIVERING VOICE OF HOPE
HAS BEEN SNATCHED BY THE SANDS OF TIME.

IT WAS HIS BLOOD
IT WAS HIS FUNERAL
HE WAS GONE TOO SOON

(, Dedicated to a dear friend who died of a chronic heart disease living behind his widowed mother.Until his death, he was the only son of his mother)
*tears*
shola martins(july 4 1987-oct 1 2008)


facebook I.D: femi jonathan maro