THE POEM: 1) Palem Apokpi, mother who gave birth to me, to be a man how I hated leaving home ten years ago. Now these hills have grown on me. But I’m still your painfully shy son with a ravenous appetite, the boy who lost many teeth after emptying your larder. And I am also your dreamy-eyed lad who gave you difficult times during his schooldays, romancing every girl he wanted, even when he still wore half-pants. 2) You told your children that money and time do not grow on trees, and I could never learn to keep up with them. It isn’t that I’ve forgotten what you’ve come to mean to me though I abandoned much and left so little of myself for others to remember me. 3) I know how you work your fingers to the bone as all mothers do, for unmarried sons, ageing husband and liberated daughters-in-law. Worried about us, for a long time your lips couldn’t burgeon in a smile, lines have furrowed your face and first signs of snow are on your hair. 4) Today, as on every day you must have
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