Mother Of Mockery

My dear daughter,

Bring me money

Oh Mom, but how?

Be leasing the fertile land

This great temple of yours

Let the men worship therein

While preaching to them,

demand a fat offertory

That is evil, mom!

Then fend for yourself

I’ve grown old now

Patronage is very low

So all this while,

was this the trade?

I’d rather be a head potter

I can’t barter the Persian spring

Don’t be consciously stupid

There is no nobility in that

Please, we are not slaves!

Keep our ‘sabbath holy’

This dirty enterprise

I will desecrate it

I have no interest in it

I stand for good

I hate children who argue

I’m your mom, so listen

Or you’ll sleep outside

Hastily let it be, mom!

Poem by yours only,

 Abdul Rahman Odoi

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