Mama,
I’m sorry I married a church girl,
I saw angel wings beneath that long white dress,
And her voice made me see the gates of Heaven,
I once asked if she would take me there,
She nodded with a holy smile.


Mama,
As I write this I see my death,
She went last year and sent me my ticket,
She called me yes,
Donno if its to Heaven or Hades,
My head is the only fat thing that remains of your son.


Mama,
She was a pretty church girl,
Born and raised in the church,
Her father ruled and watched over her,
He chose her friends and places she went,
When she joined the big school away from home,
She moved away from lock and grace.


She carried her generosity along,
She opened doors in the day and legs at night,
She basked in the morning sun with girls,
And massaged married men at night,
She advised on clothing and stripped at night,
She was a church girl as she used to be,
But still craved for the fun and freedom,
She was a cleverly confused soul that knew it all,
Organized seminars at home and parties at school,
She knew types of prayer as much as she was the dictionary to sex styles,
Her wardrobe was a mix of scanty and ample dressing,
She was lost,
She even lost a baby; deliberately.


Mama,
When I met her she had reformed,
But her womb had deformed due to regular scraps,
Mama,
She told me of her past, some of it,
And I knew I was never going back,
Even on the altar when I said I do,
I knew no one would carry my name,
My father would be forgotten.


Ten years now I have never went outside,
Even without children to carry my name,
I had one to carry my comfort,
Until she went to her old ways,
And drilled the virus into me.


In her funeral I met great men she had lain,
They came to bid goodbye to her,
And maybe me too,
Mama,
I’m not ashamed of having the virus,
Its for anyone,
I am ashamed of marrying that girl,
Mama,
I should have married a devil I know.


Lay me to rest with my fathers before me,
Don’t bury me beside her,
Sing no dirge Mama,
Slaughter no bull,
Call no multitude,
Just wrap me in any cloth you’ll find,
Your son is dying like a dog,
Unworthy of a fancy coffin,
Mama,
Am sorry I married a church girl.

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5 thoughts on “MAMA I’M SORRY”

  1. I understand your point of view rightly.
    How I wish it were a fantasized piece of writing which should never
    happen to anybody…it is so sad and touching.

  2. Your words hits home…. unexpectedly tears rolling down my face…coz
    not only do I read, but I read with a picture playing…its like a film rolling….
    Keep it up…its fantastic

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