Grrriiiiiiiiiiiiing! the nagging alarm clock blares, interrupting her long, meditative, shallow sleep. Thoughts ravaging her mind all day, have found their way into her dreams once again. It’s 4 a.m in the morning, the perfect time for her usual kitchen dash. Breakfast steams on the gas for you and the kids. Of course, the morning crow still finds you in bed, eyes closed, and mouth open; drowning the pillow in methanol-filled drools. The bedside stool testifies of last night's groove, around it lay fallen bottles running over with booze.
Body sunk in bed, paralyzed from the resultant effect of an overwhelming stupor. Snores scale the perimeter fence, finding their way into the chambers of the sleeping neighbours, disrupting another night's peaceful forty winks. A latex-laden pant lay carelessly on the closet floor, attesting to the escapades of an adulterous evening in the arms of a strange mistress. 'They are souvenir from the sick bay, I went there earlier to kill an headache', you claim, but she looks into your eyes in disgust and can't hold back tears; same white lie for the hundredth time! Aren't they tools that keep you proofed so you live to cheat another day?
Mrs. Help-meet sucks it up, picks your favourite shirt, presses it and stretches your jet-black suit. A grey coloured, new pair of suede shoes awaits your wandering feet, the perfect match for your outfit. Its your promotion interview; she remembered to make you look good. How thoughtful! The briefcase lay open in its usual mess, and she tidies its paper work. Your miscarriage-inducing pair of socks, carrying a stench equivalent to the pungent whiff of a rotten egg is now washed, and left to dry on the bathroom laundry line as the night breaks into a new dawn. In the midst of her endless chores, she finds time to rehearse for the big day ahead. Full concentration activated in search of inspiration for her presentation at work. I guess you can't even tell why she's locked in the study away from you? It’s simple; digestion is an impossibility where constipation lurks!
Mrs. Responsible then proceeds into the kids' room. It’s time to prepare her little bunnies for school. Don't they look cute in those uniform and shoes? Radiating skin, courtesy of mama's great meals.
Morning baby, she greets your stinking breath; its nothing different from the dung of a drunk, running diarrhea in an overflowing latrine, beside a refuse dump, somewhere in Oshodi slum. Pain killer in her hand, waiting to tend to the headache of another pain-in-the-butt. The hangover wouldn't even let you choose right; four different palms lay outstretched before your confused blurry eyes.
She steps into the bedroom to dress up, only to be welcomed by the stinking puke downloaded on the floor. In silence, she gets to work, bends over to clean and mop. In all this, she didn't utter a word.
Its 7:30 on the clock, signifying the right time for her daily hundred metre bus-stop sprint. She made it, its still minutes before eight. Her colleague, Mark, lay in wait to help dot the i's and cross the t's. 'Be yourself, no sweat, you are born to do this', he cheers. Nothing compares to the right words spoken at the right moment. It feels good to know someone still cares. Her dry, emotional grounds have just been watered. If only its coming from the man she shares her innermost being with; one who ought to be her greatest fan and best friend.
She finds herself growing feelings for this gentle soul. Well, its an expected norm, and its no crime; a vine gravitates towards the direction of sun light. An attraction is not betrayal until it is acted upon, but she's no novice to its gimmicks; even an idiot knows a very thin line exists between them. Recalling that; 'For every act, there are Pharisees waiting to cast a stone', and 'In good times alone' was not the oath, she dumps the thought to focus on building her home. What a wise woman!
The day's commission finally comes to an end. She heads home after stopping by to pluck the kids from school. Even though you come home so late the days you deem fit to, she still heads straight to the kitchen to fix you a hot plate. Its your favourite tonight. A sacrificial effort made in the hope of appealing to your strayed conscience, but the lifestyle of a blind bat wouldn't let you see the hard toils.
Its hours now, your dinner's cold and the bunnies have given up waiting on you. Mama wouldn't budge; she sits glued to the couch. Like a sun flower that follows every movement of the sun, she trails every ticking hands of the clock. Though worn out and in dire need of rest, she just can't bring herself to hug a pillow when her love isn't home yet.
Gbooaaah! The door flings open in a blast. Its 12:40 in the morning and daddy's home. The young lads bolt out of their sleep to behold a staggering figure in the doorway. Oh God! Not again... 'Baby, we've been waiting on you', mama manage to say amidst sobs. 'What do you mean? Can't I have time-out to celebrate with my friends?’ he fires. 'But we need you too' is all she said, and hell breaks loose. Sisquo must have unleashed the dragon wherever it stood. A hand faster than a Bugatti at top speed launched two thunderous, deafening, dirty slaps of high decibels in rapid succession across mama's face. At this point, the kids know too well they do not require the services of the Holy Ghost to be told its time to flee. She lands on the floor with a loud thud and wouldn't stand up, only to open her eyes six days later in the Intensive Care Unit of an hospital ward. The cardiac monitor beeps as she returns to life. This time, the punches have mailed her in broken pieces into the waiting arms of crutches, casts and braces.
Mama stares down at her wedding ring for several minutes, shifting her teary gaze from her finger into the empty eyes of her kids standing by her bedside. She then looks into your heartless eyes in her feebleness and say; every day I wake, its emptiness, why? Is this the gain for being a good house wife? 'For better, for worse' is what set me up. That's what got me here, that's what made me this. Your monthly cents hardly go towards paying the rent. I work like a bee to help you pay the bills. In recent years, you haven't spent time with the kids, and when you come home, its always with your fist. I reverence and call you the sweetheart you don’t deserve, when what you should be tagged is the bitter anus that you truly are. If my loyalty deserves a reward, I think I’m years past paid, and now; my verdict is finally made… I've seen hell countless times, cheated death several times, and at this moment; I've been abused for the last time!
Body sunk in bed, paralyzed from the resultant effect of an overwhelming stupor. Snores scale the perimeter fence, finding their way into the chambers of the sleeping neighbours, disrupting another night's peaceful forty winks. A latex-laden pant lay carelessly on the closet floor, attesting to the escapades of an adulterous evening in the arms of a strange mistress. 'They are souvenir from the sick bay, I went there earlier to kill an headache', you claim, but she looks into your eyes in disgust and can't hold back tears; same white lie for the hundredth time! Aren't they tools that keep you proofed so you live to cheat another day?
Mrs. Help-meet sucks it up, picks your favourite shirt, presses it and stretches your jet-black suit. A grey coloured, new pair of suede shoes awaits your wandering feet, the perfect match for your outfit. Its your promotion interview; she remembered to make you look good. How thoughtful! The briefcase lay open in its usual mess, and she tidies its paper work. Your miscarriage-inducing pair of socks, carrying a stench equivalent to the pungent whiff of a rotten egg is now washed, and left to dry on the bathroom laundry line as the night breaks into a new dawn. In the midst of her endless chores, she finds time to rehearse for the big day ahead. Full concentration activated in search of inspiration for her presentation at work. I guess you can't even tell why she's locked in the study away from you? It’s simple; digestion is an impossibility where constipation lurks!
Mrs. Responsible then proceeds into the kids' room. It’s time to prepare her little bunnies for school. Don't they look cute in those uniform and shoes? Radiating skin, courtesy of mama's great meals.
Morning baby, she greets your stinking breath; its nothing different from the dung of a drunk, running diarrhea in an overflowing latrine, beside a refuse dump, somewhere in Oshodi slum. Pain killer in her hand, waiting to tend to the headache of another pain-in-the-butt. The hangover wouldn't even let you choose right; four different palms lay outstretched before your confused blurry eyes.
She steps into the bedroom to dress up, only to be welcomed by the stinking puke downloaded on the floor. In silence, she gets to work, bends over to clean and mop. In all this, she didn't utter a word.
Its 7:30 on the clock, signifying the right time for her daily hundred metre bus-stop sprint. She made it, its still minutes before eight. Her colleague, Mark, lay in wait to help dot the i's and cross the t's. 'Be yourself, no sweat, you are born to do this', he cheers. Nothing compares to the right words spoken at the right moment. It feels good to know someone still cares. Her dry, emotional grounds have just been watered. If only its coming from the man she shares her innermost being with; one who ought to be her greatest fan and best friend.
She finds herself growing feelings for this gentle soul. Well, its an expected norm, and its no crime; a vine gravitates towards the direction of sun light. An attraction is not betrayal until it is acted upon, but she's no novice to its gimmicks; even an idiot knows a very thin line exists between them. Recalling that; 'For every act, there are Pharisees waiting to cast a stone', and 'In good times alone' was not the oath, she dumps the thought to focus on building her home. What a wise woman!
The day's commission finally comes to an end. She heads home after stopping by to pluck the kids from school. Even though you come home so late the days you deem fit to, she still heads straight to the kitchen to fix you a hot plate. Its your favourite tonight. A sacrificial effort made in the hope of appealing to your strayed conscience, but the lifestyle of a blind bat wouldn't let you see the hard toils.
Its hours now, your dinner's cold and the bunnies have given up waiting on you. Mama wouldn't budge; she sits glued to the couch. Like a sun flower that follows every movement of the sun, she trails every ticking hands of the clock. Though worn out and in dire need of rest, she just can't bring herself to hug a pillow when her love isn't home yet.
Gbooaaah! The door flings open in a blast. Its 12:40 in the morning and daddy's home. The young lads bolt out of their sleep to behold a staggering figure in the doorway. Oh God! Not again... 'Baby, we've been waiting on you', mama manage to say amidst sobs. 'What do you mean? Can't I have time-out to celebrate with my friends?’ he fires. 'But we need you too' is all she said, and hell breaks loose. Sisquo must have unleashed the dragon wherever it stood. A hand faster than a Bugatti at top speed launched two thunderous, deafening, dirty slaps of high decibels in rapid succession across mama's face. At this point, the kids know too well they do not require the services of the Holy Ghost to be told its time to flee. She lands on the floor with a loud thud and wouldn't stand up, only to open her eyes six days later in the Intensive Care Unit of an hospital ward. The cardiac monitor beeps as she returns to life. This time, the punches have mailed her in broken pieces into the waiting arms of crutches, casts and braces.
Mama stares down at her wedding ring for several minutes, shifting her teary gaze from her finger into the empty eyes of her kids standing by her bedside. She then looks into your heartless eyes in her feebleness and say; every day I wake, its emptiness, why? Is this the gain for being a good house wife? 'For better, for worse' is what set me up. That's what got me here, that's what made me this. Your monthly cents hardly go towards paying the rent. I work like a bee to help you pay the bills. In recent years, you haven't spent time with the kids, and when you come home, its always with your fist. I reverence and call you the sweetheart you don’t deserve, when what you should be tagged is the bitter anus that you truly are. If my loyalty deserves a reward, I think I’m years past paid, and now; my verdict is finally made… I've seen hell countless times, cheated death several times, and at this moment; I've been abused for the last time!
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I and my boy friend as been separated for a long period, I cam across different spell caster and they were all unable to bring my lover back. I was so sad and almost gave up on him when i met a spell man called prophet jakula, who helped me get my lover back. Ever since then i have been so happy and couldn't believe it would happen. He also helped me with success spell, I have been living happily with my lover now and will be getting married soon. Here is his contact if you need his help. prophetjakula@gmail.com
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