(For my unborn child)
I’m just a child.
Old enough to be my dad
You ought to be interested in my books not my shy nipple yet to become boobs.
Mother still cuddles me with milk of bottle,
My hands cannot touch the ends of my ears
Still wrapped in diapers
Not Ultra pads.
My thighs are unripe for your masculine thrusting.
Your new law would make me,a child
Mother a child,
How is that possible?
How can I warm your bed with my infantine caresses?
That would leave me in the dying clasp of VVF,
With stinks like our house to house unkempt drainages.
Law makers of broken laws,
Don’t forget that I cannot vote,
Let me be freed from your deadly claws.
Teach me with the pen
Not the penis
To become celebrated like the Williams pro of tennis,
Not injecting us with syphilis,
Future is being murdered,
Out break of ill-Bliss.
Mothers and brothers,
Chalk our rights on boards of the roads and streets,
Doctors can’t you see the illness they are melting on me?
Writers pen my pain on tabloids with ink of blood,
Write that it isn’t right.
Youths raise banners and protest all over.
Speak up for me,
Speak of my rights
For I am just a child.
JB Mairubutu lives in Abuja, Nigeria