The Dusty Labour

Who would wipe these tears off her face? She sits in a lonely place darkened by the fears that locks her mind, twisted in the memories of broken promises, wandering why the world has taken a turn. The world await a precious gold but it appears she is buried within the earth of deception. It awaits precious fine white linen but she can hardly be found.

Who would restore this lost hope?
She locks her fingers in her tiny braids, pulling each strand with a rhythm, tapping her feet on the floor, wishing the world would halt at her feet. Beneath her cold veins is the hope for many but she seems to be fainting like a dying soul. A generation lies in her womb but she appears to have no strength to birth them out.

Who can deliver her thought from destruction? Eyes twitching in every direction, like moments stolen by photo shots, you can feel pain flicking like magic wind. Every thought against the other, which is she supposed to uphold? Day by day, months by months, years by years, she's being deceived. Friends deceiving, promises broken, relationship unsatisfying, weary, tired, beaten, wrecked, broken, words cannot describe how she feels. 

Who can withhold her hands from shivering? This night, she looked at herself in the mirror of her past

Once, she felt unbreakable, unstoppable. Now she feels like her own shadows. Asking herself the little bit that seems left. Somewhere, someplace, the answers to my unending questions lies but it’s uncertain she would ever have answers to the traitors, liars and foes like friends.

Shaking herself from the dust, she rose up. Gathers strength to stand in between the two walls that have enclosed her dreams. The walls of impossibility and mediocrity. She gathers courage to dress herself in the garment of splendor, takes a sit for she cannot die in this hopelessness and deception. 

“Rub the fears of my face, rinse me from the drunkenness of sorrow, free me from the chains around my neck,” she shout aloud. A song is about to be heard. A child is about to be born. 

You can see it in the flame of her eyes. You can read it in her thought. 

With both feet pressed against the floor, she groans in pain. 

Each hand against the wall in the darkness, she pushed, pushed and pushed.

And at the peak of time, she birth the child of her dreams

Birth your dreams. 

God has placed the ability to reach your most feared destination.

Oluwamitomisin