Thanks to MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie for this week’s photo challenge:
Have you cast all your doubts?
Decided what’s best?
An old women has regrets,
There is no life without them.
It’s difficult, knowing what’s right,
I just tried my best.
Listened to my elders,
As my mother always said.
But there are days I know,
My best is not enough.
I’m pushing and pulling,
No strength in my bones.
I’m yelling and shouting,
But my words aren’t enough,
“We don’t speak your language Yaya.”
My grandchildren laugh.
They always need more,
More than dry-bones can provide.
I feel drained and drowned,
In lost potential.
Yaya down and she can’t raise herself up.
Drenched in such evil,
Of those with no conscience;
Their knowing looks, eyes that know nothing.
They’re missing my years, my wisdom learned,
But I’m stuck in thick sticky mud,
And no one helps an old woman up.
There’s no hand to help comfort Yaya,
Her life was tough and unsparing.
The mud is the only spa I know or ever have,
A facial mask of sludge and worms.
An archaic beauty mask.
Somebody hear, what I’ve learned — listen:
Your mistakes and your ills you repeat,
Each day I try to tell you but it’s not enough.
You smile at me empty eyes,
My words pass through your ears,
The wind blows loudly there.
Until I’ve drawn my last breath?
Until I’m lying here still — dead,
Knowing some journeys such as mine,
Must be made alone and for naught.
A solo expedition, my entire culture lost,
Must I stay on the roads of antiquity?
Can I grow with the changing world?
Give me a reason to deviate:
I must stop the mudslide from coming.
Spitting sludge from my lips,
Lord, why don’t they hear?
The roar of doom and pain approaching.
It will wash them away,
When I’m safe in the heavens.
Does being old make me invisible?
The crevices of my face are a map,
And my eyes the lights to yesterday.
Learn from the past, I pray.
Where is the light?
Where is the hope?
I’m just an old bird, a simple sparrow,
How do I become a Mockingjay?
I saw her fight in the movies,
We need a Mockingjay today,
A bird of pray who acts,
Not sleeping through each day.
How do I bring hope, become a symbol?
How do I teach my young,
To mimic a wisdom long past.
You won’t like what I have to say I know,
But you would hear, a Mockingjay.
©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved.