I wrote this at a young age in Africa, looking at the dynamics between man and woman. Seems to be the same today...

My Husband Is A Cuckoo

Humbly he came into my life,
Winning my hand as his wife.
Pleadingly he crawled into my room,
Cutting my heart at its root.
In my womb his eggs he laid.
My virginity to him I paid.

For him the eggs I hatched,
My strength the effort thrashed.
My turgid body became flaccid,
To him I became insipid.

My life he now controls,
Architect he is of my plans,
My room he storms at will.

He cultivates my fields;
He explores my heart's hills.
Purges me of my mother's food.

Hardened to my desperate pleads,
My love turns to wormwood.
My charge caring for his chicken,
My satisfaction managing his kitchen.

Relaxed in the warmth of his domination,
On him I lean for support.
Guiding me, his honeysuckle,
Producing his cherished honeydew.

Strengthened by his special port,
I acknowledge the premonition, and
Learn not to be his flay.
From the self-made me I flee.
From the truth I flinch.
For me and my species,
Forever we remain Mother Cuckoos.
(Written 1981)

© 2007 Esther Lamnyam