Mama

Time moulds her into fifties
she is only forty-three
But lines on her face
Like cracks on the arid soil, dull and waterless
Never give up, never growl
and never moan
Be a good mama-murmured herself

Papa rocking in the rattan armchair
holding a paper fan
fanning himself leisurely. Swiftly;
Mama sewing on the wooden bench
penetrating one hole to another
along the side of the cotton
droplets of sweats dripping down
lay on the fabric

Ah Sam, your kias would never know
Later marry an ang mo
leave motherland behind
you send him money
he gratifies you paper money
An aunty next door says
i hate this pak poh aunty
always speak ill of my brothers

Dawn. Sunrise. Sunset.
A routine with One hope, one wish
Mama peeps out from atap window
searching for the long-standing memories
her children sitting on the grass
catching earthworms;
ripping the dragonflies apart;
drained in the mud.

But where are you, my sons?
Mama missing you so much
Tears pool her face
as if she will die of weeping anytime.

Written by Black Pea, 9 May 2006