Freitag- funf nach halb neun
Early in late October
I wish but can't remember
Nineteen-seventy-five
Daniel was still alive
Probably his year of dust
When the fleshed ceased to lost
This resentment, brought much sentiment
Ended the strife, shut the door of life
His life an ill thing
Ill the (death) process he passed
Ill he ended this life's war
Ill- all ill things
Akpati we took for you
You were not to say adieu
Ill, all ill things
You left, more boy than man
Why not for roots instead?
The alien, circumstance a foe
Took you to sea, to the river beds
A paean of departed woe
Hope not fulfilled, but life fulfilled
Ceased to quest, ceased to thirst
Drank enough never to rust
Now invisible to all but God
Not longer in time but eternity
Lo! Many cried evil!
Some, the hand of devil
I know your smile when you were
Still felt (at heart) you are
Chastising life, lived with rod
He never lived, but now dead
Requiescat in pace
Illed from cradle to the grave
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem