Underneath the blistering sun, Mama Bísí stands,
Her tray of oranges balanced with care, her hands rough,
Each slice of fruit, a piece of hope she offers,
Her eyes hold stories, deep as the Lagos lagoon.
Dawns spent fighting for space in crowded markets,
Where shouts blend with honking horns, chaos,
Yet, in her struggle, there’s a rhythm, a dance,
A resilience that pulses through her veins.
Her feet, weary yet moving with purpose,
Every sale, a step closer to school fees, a meal,
She dreams of rest, of days without the grind,
But knows her fight fuels dreams of tomorrow.
Written by Ayodamola