The Atlas In Worn-Out Slippers Poem by CHIOMA ONYEKABA

The Atlas in worn-out slippers, she stands,
No globe upon her shoulder, yet the world in her hands.
Not mountains of stone, but worries that fret,
Aching muscles from burdens, she hasn't a moment to forget.

Her eyes, once bright stars, hold a weariness deep,
Lines etched on her face, a map where worries do sleep.
But when her child stumbles, a strength yet remains,
A love that uplifts, soothes away life's sharp pains.

No thundering earthquakes, but tantrums that roll,
Her gentle voice guides, a story unfolds.
No thundering storms, but tears that may fall,
A warm embrace shelters, a comfort for all.

The world on her back, she carries unseen,
A symphony of sacrifices, a love evergreen.
In worn-out slippers, she walks through the night,
The Atlas of hearts, her love a guiding light.