A black mother’s love
is sculpted by
the fixed deck of cards she was dealt
as a person of colour –
misused and hardly understood
Yet she kept fighting
with knives in her back
chains on her wrists
poison down her throat.
For her children, she hoped would
never experience the trials and tribulations
that she had.
She had hoped for a life for them.
Because why would she painfully leave
her mother country,
be stripped of her family, her rich culture and language?
For everything she had hoped for to be taken away by one fatal stab.
How can you tell a mother
holding her new-born child
that before she sees her last day,
her son’s body will leave this earth
before her own?
There is no greater pain than a mother’s sacrifice.
