I
Her birth blood from the gutters scream
For her to all the filth redeem
Her blood can’t stand likes with her dream
And can no longer stand their scream
II
She can’t be called rich as such
In her wardrobe designer is much
All her looks have a Midas touch
And authenticity dwells in her watch
III
Her face shows disgust for gutters
Gutters which shielded with litters
All things culminating haters;
Her haters: her needful rapers
IV
What did the gutters do so wrong?
Making hatred for them so strong?
She looks like she doesn’t belong
To the sad gutters. And among
The things she wants to be known
The filth of the past can’t a place own
V
Her birth blood cries in the bones
Of the gutters, because of the neglect of her own
Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2014
Mum Cee 
6 replies on “HER BLOOD AS BONES OF THE GUTTER”
I can feel Your emotions, Amoa, but the poem is a little mystifying.
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It is. I wrote this when I heard a woman who grew up in the slums talking down on children struggling in the slums even when her family members spoke of her past. I grew up on the street, not because I had no home, but because I had to make a living, so I chose to put my thoughts in a poem. That no matter what anyone did, his or her past is part of him or her and would never erase.
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Very powerful and emotive. How very sad these circumstances exist anywhere.
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Yes, very sad, but they exist, ingratitude of those who fail to help people striving like them, and want to erase their past.
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A mother’s breasts are shallow at least what I remember.I am not as she thought. As I sleep my dreams are haunted by her walk. A child of hers was not a child of mine. I grew to find life. Now life is my mother and a family we are thee
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🙂
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