The nine moons bled into three trimesters
A triad of the phases it took to weave tiny stars,
into the very fabric of my womb
To my dismay, the knitted strings of this bundle fray into a tomb.
The tomb hosts an angel, my love belongs to you,
so were your halo child.
The grim reaper robbed me and my fury is not mild
My love for you will not wax or wane,
for the embers of my love transcend beyond your grave.
Lingering grief edges me into the verge of insanity
whilst, the billion galaxies orbit around your serenity.
The universe boasts of you with stardust and ashes
so, I wish for you whenever a shooting star passes.
Motherhood is not just red roses, peaches and cream.
At times, it is a love like no other melting into a dream
Time solidifies our bond
even though, my tears stream into a pond.
You will forever remain engrained into my memory
and I will carry you with a sweet melody.
My heart speaks of your story
Whilst my womb is imprinted with your glory.
—
Read – The Legacy – A Poem by Kaosisochukwu Okafor, Nigeria
