Days of Christmas
5-7 5-7 5-7 5-7-7
image of my child
salivates at nothingness
this drives me crazy
to put more energy in
fanning the fire
that will cook only water
to bathe off the grime
from scavenging on the heap
behind the MP’s mansion
it is Christmas eve
I can hear the chiming bells
last year the priest fed the kids
and winked at my girl
It is a no go this year
church charity stinks
but dare I reserve some pride
charity has lots of face
the Harmattan breeze
biting, burned and cracked my skin
charcoal a fiery red
The water now at a boil
waiting for the kids
to return to nothingness
now, what will they bring?
Freshly baked cakes, brown as earth,
bottles of coca-cola
with no expiry date or
stale crackers from yesteryear
moldy leg of a chicken
dry as the hag I’ve become?
Or my brand of emptiness?
Mama! There she is
dark skin glowing, defying
the harsh Harmattan
mockery of perfect skins.
her teeth flashed in smile
I swear the gleam in her eyes
made the Christmas lights
in the MP’s mansion pale.
now, she is me all over
(envoy or tanka)
she raise tiny hands
then I see the envelope!
ah, Harmattan breeze
her long tresses billowing
my husband’s gift waves at me
Copyright © Celestine Nudanu 11/12/15
Done for Carpe Diem.
a mother gathers
her unsold melons
rumbling stomachCopyright © Celestine Nudanu 13/05/15 I appreciate your patience with me as I catch up on your blogs. Thanks a million! Shalom
Done for Carpe Diem. As we celebrate the Season may we spare a thought for the homeless and hungry kids!:-) Wishing all my lovely blogger friends a wonderful Christmas and a Happy New Year. 🙂
behind Christmas tree
hungry eyes peep for a bite
silent bells at homeCopyright © Celestine Nudanu (24/12/14)
I appreciate your patience with me as I catch up on your blogs. Thanks a million! Shalom.
in great thuds
of dreaded whispers
and alien chiming bells
but see, that hollow-eyed child hears only discordance
and the gaseous emissions of hunger born in the bowels of a hearth long gone coldCopyright © Celestine Nudanu 11/12/13
I appreciate your patience with me as I catch up on your blogs. Thanks a million! Shalom
This week’s Ligo Haibun prompts are The sun or Childhood memory of summer camps. Well, since I’ve never been to a summer camp I opted for the first prompt 🙂
She laid awake, her mind refusing to succumb to sleep. Shivering, she pulled the cover cloth tighter round her body, casting a disgusting look at her inert husband. His snore could wake the child they had buried only the previous week.
In the next room, her other four children were fast asleep; the night before she had fed them the last cornmeal. There was no more food and that meant only one thing. The fights would resume in earnest. Outside, the rain continued to fall with urgency and consistency, desperate in its bid to blot out much-needed rays. Sighing, she contemplated her lot. Will the sun ever blaze in her life?hollow eyes stare mirror her desperation Dying embers
Today my small Eighth stone is a bit long and in the form of a story prompted by Susan Daniel’s post. Please, humour me.
I was quite little when my mother narrated this story to me. “There was once a poor widow with three children. One evening there was nothing to eat at home. Her children were hungry but she had nothing to give them. Unable to bear their woeful looks anymore, she lighted the hearth and put a pot of water on the fire. When it boiled she collected some stones and put them in the pot and covered it. By now the children had started to cry, their stomachs growling.
“My children, I am cooking some food for you. I know you love yams so I am boiling yams for you. Have patience, Soon the yams will be ready to eat”
Their crying stopped and soon, with hopes of having food to eat, they were smiling.
“Fan the fire for so the yams will cook faster.” she urged them.
They happily took turns in fanning the fire and they could actually smell the wafting aroma of the boiling yams. This seemed to energise them and they worked harder at the fanning. After a while, the children grew impatient and restless
“Mother, are the yams not cooked?”
“A little more time, my children and we will soon have our meal. Keep fanning the fire.”
The fanned and fanned till their arms ached and still the yams were not cooked. Finally exhausted and immune from the gnawing hunger, the children fell asleep behind the hearth.
When I heard this story, my initial reaction was that the widow was cruel. But my mother said to me. “Think about it, Afua.”
And then it hit me. Little as I was then, I knew my mother was teaching me a lesson in gratitude. Here was a poor widow with nothing to give her children but ‘stones in soup’. And here was I, lucky to be provided with all my wants and still I grumbled and would throw tantrums anytime my mother asked me to wait until the end of month when she received her salary as a teacher to get me my needs.
I never forgot this story. And today, I do my best to inculcate gratitude, graciousness and thankfulness in my three boys.
Yes, Susan, stones can be cooked. 🙂