YOUNG GOSS AND HER AGING SON
By Awuol Gabriel Arok, Juba, South Sudan
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Oh! Beautiful snoop woman of Africa,
Beautiful and powerful you are;
Mother of the jungle son,
Dame and decent woman, admiral of the world;
Fine Looking men of the world are our body guards;
I don’t blame them mother;
For your round shinny face has a magical appearance,
But mother where are my other siblings?
My child, deep they have gone into;
The chasm of the world,
Maleec! Maleec! Maleec!
But! But! Why don’t you call them mother?
No! No! They are taking lunch with their ghost mother;
Ok! Ok! And here Iam alone with;
My GOSS mother; and them with their ghost mother
But why mother? You looks younger than me; your son,
Me older than you and you younger than me;
Miserable stories my blood being;
Yes before me was my mother,
Who was murdered,
Leaving me in my infancy stage,
Proudly after 21 years of her nonexistent;
My mother was reborn; making her younger,
Than me her son;
Me the Aging son of the GOSS mother;
I will not go to a ghost mother.
Now; mother here we are; in our filthy grass tukul
Being mistreated during your absent;
Given bones instead of meat,
Given stones instead of maize grain,
Eating mud instead of food,
Now that you are here;
Will you feed me with meat?
Will you give me a full plate?
Will you dismantle this gate-less fence of pain?
Of which Iam tired of jumping over every day,
With those fulfilled;
I will know you are my GOSS mother; not a ghost mother
Memories from April 2008 Juba
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