Sometimes, you may not understand,
Why you wake up to a familiar touch,
Yet having no memory of falling asleep.
You're asking your mother of this warmth when,
You seek after this woman.
Today, she is with you and in you; wearing black,
You're leaving your house and,
Moving outside your body to search for her.
You're trying to figure this colour which,
Hides this woman from you.
You may call her an illusion for,
The many facets she has.
You spell her name in dreams just,
Like your father who wore this woman in love.
This woman holds stillness in her voice,
And in her arms you live in a still form,
Just the way you crave your mother.
Night is no doubt a woman who,
Speaks of God in his goodness,
And you are her child,
Tracing this Psalms in your body.

- Chukwu, Emmanuel. 
A Nigerian, poet and a medic who uses his writing to care for humanity

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