A girl child is more important than we think they are:
The girl child is a comely rose flower,
That blooms in spring in its perfect bower.
She seats like the mobile queen on the white or black square of a chess board,
Her presence is valued and adored.
But what happens to rose buds when they're attacked by chilli thrips?
Its buds become brittle and drop down.
Same is the fate of the girl child who is brought down,
From the Fringe of the uptown to the periphery of its downtown.
A feet chained by the manacles of patriachal and cultural restrictions,
This a stumbling block to her visions.
Her dreams thwarted by marital expectations and familial obligations,
As a hand reaches for the stars,
In a sincere bid for success, a million scars.
I want to be the president of my nation,
They laugh at her in derision.
Get a hobby or better still a mediocre ambition.
If then u become the president of your nation...
What title shall we call ur husband?
Perhaps the first gentleman of the nation? 😪
Hey! Do not listen to the whispers of dream killers,
For as long as u have a functional brain,
You can function even in a dysfunctional terrain.
Say no!
No, to the voices of their poking noses,
No, to the defeaning noise of their discorded brawls.
Break off the endless chains of wreathed sprawls,
Remain mute to their distant calls.
Shake your branches to get rid of the chilli thrips,
Or bask in the euphoria of their chilly thrills.
For u are not just the missing rib,
You are the wings in the rib cage.
You are a care giver, a joy bringer, a peace keeper and a life saver.
You are beautiful and tactful,
Nimble-minded, not feeble-minded,
A goal getter, not a sore looser.
You are what mother nature endowed this nefarious world with,
Able and affable,
Benignant not malignant.
You are more than just being a girl, a daughter, a sister, a wife, an aunt, a niece, a cousin, a mother, 🤰🤱
More than meets the eye.