Mad man, once a mother's love.
In a dirty string-like cloth, bottom and chest bare
A body in patches, and dried wounds show
In supplication, hands held out ghostly, for food or dime
Not food not a dime, but sadist's stone,
His stomach rumbles, he rummages his bundle of rags
A rotten banana peel, his lunch it makes
Moons counted, a mother, like any other
Got a sweet product of her womb, kissed like other
She had loved him, yes, a bundle of joy he was.
Powers, the times, the earth it would be drenched, her tears,
Sight of her son, her soul sinks.
poem by Charles Jagongo Ogola
Added by Poetry Lover
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