A simple gesture

In the middle of

An ocean of bitterness,

Despair and fear,

Which,

Like a rising tide,

Assail the world;

In the middle of

Infernal noise

Coming from

Tractors, Pneumatic drills, Tipper trucks,

Which roar and strike;

In the middle of

The inconveniences of driving

On a potholed pavement

A one-way street,

Changed to two-way;

A small gesture,

A simple gesture

Is able

To cheer me up:

A white man,

In a hurry,

Leaves behind him

His little boy,

A chubby-cheek little angel,

Gamboling.

Into the Jamaican bakery,

The white man rushed,

To occupy,

In a single file,

A good spot.

On the doorstep,

Stood a black woman,

A monumental entity,

Like being carved from granite,

Happy to hold a bagful

Of warm whole meal loaves.

The little boy,

A chubby-cheek little angel,

Gamboling,

Hits his head

Against the female stomach.

The black woman,

A monumental entity,

Like being carved from granite,

With her huge,

But velvety palm,

Strokes the child’s head

And gently,

Pushes the little boy

A chubby-cheek little angle

Gamboling

Toward his father,

Unaware of the gesture.

It’s,

In the middle

Of an ocean of bitterness

And the inconveniences of driving,

A simple gesture,

Through which,

Proclaims

The black woman,

A monumental entity,

Like being carved from granite,

“Don’t be afraid of me,

My angel,

My son,

I am your mother,

As I am

The mother of mankind.

Really, I am,

I don’t lie,

You must believe me.

“Throughout my female ancestors,

I’ve carried in my bosom,

And I’ve rocked

Generations of little boys

And little girls,

Like you,

Of all skin nuances,

Of all tendencies,

Of all conditions.

“So,

I am the mother of mankind,

I am your mother,

I am the mother of your father

And your mother.

You understand the reason why,

With my motherly hand,

I stroke you and touch your hair.

“Don’t be afraid of me,

I am the mother of mankind,

Really, I am.”