On the streets,
A voice cried out in yearning,
Arms thrown up in flail,
Alternating between clutching the fabrics,
Round about the waist where the womb lies hidden,
Because she has been denied the grace of fertility.
Oh yes! Goddess of fertility,
sprinkle over my ready petals of productivity,
your golden dust of gravidity,
If I have found favour in thy sight,
so my lineage dwell happily in continuity.
Did you know?
That out of the viviparous nature of womanhood,
Her value is seen,
Continuity is void without her,
Irrespective of the seed from her significant male other,
Fertility is the price she pays with her life.
The Bossom of the woman Lay yielding,
Ripe and ready.
Within the vessel of her womb,
The arms of fertility lay out,
Holding the seed regulated by periodicity of nature,
Awaiting the merging seed of the significant other,
Time passed as she waited
And the seed shriveled to blood.
The magnificence of her bosom,
The seeds of generations unborn,
Laid out with time ticking away.
Naturally mother nature have set her to blossom,
Crowning her with fertility,
Don't blame me, mother nature cries,
If you yield not what I gave you!
VICTORIA UKPAKA
