It has no sympathy
It would have waited a while
For you to taste the soup you brewed with love before having you for supper
There is also the gods’ apathy
Contributing to your being taken
Before your soup was done
Half done, I cried tears of blood, seeing as other cooks tended to their soups
Wanting to feel the pain of its teeth with you
But hands stronger than my body, locked me in while pushing you in its mouth
Now I look at me;
A soup that the rightful cook cannot taste
And cry thinking of your delicious looking hands which carefully added salt and pepper
The grave has no sympathy
The gods always sit in apathy
Your tongue deserved to taste, your hands deserved to take praise, for your cooking prowess.
Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © 2014.
This is dedicated to the memory of my late grandmother; Naomi Adwoa Pokua who died on the 24th of December 2002. She was my mother, my benefactor and friend. I hope she is safe wherever she is.
Mum Cee 