Mother, dearest mother,
Here I sit in your womb.
Mother, dearest mother,
Yet I wish it was my tomb.
He raped you that night,
And planted his seed.
I am a product of your plight,
Forever a sign of that deed.
Will I not forever be a marker,
Of how he destroyed your soul?
A memento of times darker,
That left you forever un-whole?
That’s why I’d rather not be born,
Into a life unloved, dark and torn.
Mother, dearest mother,
Here I sit in your womb,
And wish I would smother,
Than be born with fake aplomb.
You smoke, sniff and inject,
Poisons day and night.
You are but a reject,
The streets your only right.
What awaits me is an ordeal,
Of cold homes with no love.
A terrible fate with a tight seal,
One that fits like a glove.
That’s why I’d rather not be born,
Into a life unloved, dark and torn.
Mother, dearest mother,
Here I sit in your womb and wait,
Mother, dearest mother,
Do you feel the burden and weight?
Are you really ready,
Ready for me in your life?
Will your love be steady,
Or will I see only rancor and strife?
I sense the unwillingness,
Then you are just fourteen.
I feel the uncertainness,
I was totally unforeseen.
That’s why I’d rather not be born,
Into a life unloved, dark and torn.
Does anybody ever ask us,
Find out if we are so inclined?
We never get to discuss,
The lives into which we are assigned.
We often do not care for this world,
Full of so much strife and hate,
Into which we are hurled,
After that nine-month date.
If you say this life is a gift,
Why fill it with so much pain,
And set us in it adrift,
With no cover for the rain?
That’s why we’d rather not be born,
Into a life unloved, dark and torn.
©️Nana Dadzie Ghansah – May 20, 2019