Abiku Poem by Olatunde Temitayo

My wings and feathers keep feathering,
They make my mortality visible and invincible,
I’ve once been here; once will I go and come;
I flew from here and I am still here,
The praises of my doings they give me.
As for me, I’m not to be praised;
As for them, I’m to be praised,
Though, the praises are not sweet but sour,
How they view me is melancholy;
Anytime I come I get new names.
Blades and other objects befriend my skin;
Massaging my back sorrowfully,
Concoctions! They make my daily bread;
And blood of cocks they make my wine,
Which I eat and drink on a table of powerful men.
As for them, I’m to be praised,
For kneeling down in the night;
In a place where roads hug;
Sacrificing my chest to be injected by coldness,
Bathing me when I am neat.
As for me; I’m not to be praised,
For me to be older than my elderly ones,
Praise the mothers, who control the night,
The ones who own worldly powers;
That can dry seas and stop rain.
Praise those who gave me wings and feathers,
Which make me to die and live,
Inside my mother; they make me chameleon,
My mission, they make me achieve not,
Praise me not but praise the mothers.
Why won’t I love to live?
Why will I love to be an ancestor?
Oh! praise the mothers and beg them,
To let me live till my hairs turn grey,
As for me, the mothers are to be prais