In the most subtle way,
Smiling with heavy dimples,
Making the sleeping adventure,
A smooth ride to fantasies
A world beyond mere dreams,
Tonight won't be so,
Mama,
I am sorry that it won't come,
I mean the smile I owe you every night,
The night is farther than ever nearer.
I never meant to hurt you,
Mama,
But that place hurts,
That part of my cheek,
The one I bite,
In the bid to enjoy that soup,
Cooked on our local stove,
With firewood aroma and spices,
So nourishing that I bit my cheek,
And now I can say it like before,
Should be sorry that I ate,
Or that I bit my fleshy cheek.
I like to come around,
Not just for the spicy,
But for the local recipe,
Away from the junks,
We have become used to,
Those things that kills faster,
Than the most dreaded disease,
Coal on the grilled meaty steak,
Swallowed down the throat,
By gluttons for the oily look,
Now their stomach protruded,
Like a heavily pregnant woman,
The more sorry I have to say.
I like to say I'm Sorry,
For not being able to say sorry,
It's far beyond my heavy mouth,
My lips hurts,
From the pain it feels from the cheek,
Having bitten a chunk,
Over the anxiety of eating mama's local food,
So many things to be sorry about,
One, that I couldn't say how but I feel,
Only to walk into my closet,
And to find a soothing bed to lay on,
Forgetting to bid you a good night's sleep,
I'd got to say I'm sorry with my hands scribbling my mind.