TELL MAMA.
.
tell mama,
even if her saggy nipples
have deprived our kwashiorkored tongue
from sucking the milky breast of existence....
fire the catapult of beckon to her,
with the caress of two hot palms
to foot her wrinkled feet
into the calmly tattered shoe of the dove.
.
tell mama,
this ugly 'make up' of misfortune
she caused to scrub away
the signature of beauty from our shackled face
is not a smelly fragrance reason
to consent to our faked frailed fate
to fetch the teary waters of mishap
with the cataclysm bowls of calamity
from the river bank of her eyeball
that metaphors the flowing stream of river niger.
.
tell mama,
to patiently rest her chagrin liver
on her fleshy fiesty kidney.
even if her careless thumb picking of a 'horse-band'
had caused her eye son
a journey to a nightmare
with an empty stomach.
.
tell mama,
to start kissing together
the lips of these firewoods,
for a marriage communion
beneath the buttock of the pot.
for these idle barns and baskets
that glory under the roof of emptiness
will soon harvest for our starved oesophagus
appetizing spicy grains and tubers
which will surely amnest the militant intestines
that crave armageddon wars
bequeath the wrestling ring of our belly.
.
tell mama africa,
to stop quenching our chronical thirst
with this teary salty fluid of hers.
for if we truly need salt
we'll paddle down to the sea-sore.
tell mama,
to stop percussioning
the melody of her heart beat
for our feet are now weak
to dance to the tune of hardship
.
tell mama africa,
to throw a steeling spanner
to this bicycle of worries and nerves...
for we await the solar king
which will visit our catastrophe soil
in the subsequent drop of morning dew.
we await this blooming day
that will bring for us
the warmth of the scorching sun
which will suck dry
our wet watered garment
which our ugly fate had soaked
with the tears of misfortune...
but before then,
help me tell the mother of africa
to start folding the lines
creator laced on her fleshy cheeks
with an evocative cheerful smile.
The Sun God -- Disegnini Brutti
.
tell mama,
even if her saggy nipples
have deprived our kwashiorkored tongue
from sucking the milky breast of existence....
fire the catapult of beckon to her,
with the caress of two hot palms
to foot her wrinkled feet
into the calmly tattered shoe of the dove.
.
tell mama,
this ugly 'make up' of misfortune
she caused to scrub away
the signature of beauty from our shackled face
is not a smelly fragrance reason
to consent to our faked frailed fate
to fetch the teary waters of mishap
with the cataclysm bowls of calamity
from the river bank of her eyeball
that metaphors the flowing stream of river niger.
.
tell mama,
to patiently rest her chagrin liver
on her fleshy fiesty kidney.
even if her careless thumb picking of a 'horse-band'
had caused her eye son
a journey to a nightmare
with an empty stomach.
.
tell mama,
to start kissing together
the lips of these firewoods,
for a marriage communion
beneath the buttock of the pot.
for these idle barns and baskets
that glory under the roof of emptiness
will soon harvest for our starved oesophagus
appetizing spicy grains and tubers
which will surely amnest the militant intestines
that crave armageddon wars
bequeath the wrestling ring of our belly.
.
tell mama africa,
to stop quenching our chronical thirst
with this teary salty fluid of hers.
for if we truly need salt
we'll paddle down to the sea-sore.
tell mama,
to stop percussioning
the melody of her heart beat
for our feet are now weak
to dance to the tune of hardship
.
tell mama africa,
to throw a steeling spanner
to this bicycle of worries and nerves...
for we await the solar king
which will visit our catastrophe soil
in the subsequent drop of morning dew.
we await this blooming day
that will bring for us
the warmth of the scorching sun
which will suck dry
our wet watered garment
which our ugly fate had soaked
with the tears of misfortune...
but before then,
help me tell the mother of africa
to start folding the lines
creator laced on her fleshy cheeks
with an evocative cheerful smile.
The Sun God -- Disegnini Brutti
Kwashiorkor is a severe form of malnutrition characterized by swelling of the ankles and feet (edema), irritability, ulcerated and depigmented skin, an enlarged liver, a distended abdomen, thinning hair, and tooth loss. It often develops in a child after being weaned from breast milk who then receives a diet high in carbohydrates, especially sugar, but deficient in protein. The name is derived from the Ga language of coastal Ghana and means "the sickness the baby gets when the new baby comes" or "the disease of the deposed child." Jamaican pediatrician Cicely Williams introduced the term in 1935, two years after she published the disease's first formal description.
ReplyDelete"Horse-band" is a pun on husband, referring to horse riding and controlling.
The artist on the illustration: "this illustration was inspired by the african sun masks used in rituals. to make it a bit more compelling and unsettling i caged the mask inside a tarot-like frame.... the symbols come from the akan people, an ethnic group located in ghana. their meanings are interdependence, endurance, freedom and adaptability. the mask was hand-drawn using only a thin ink pen which is a really repetitive task, kind of like a mantra."
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