Letter From Father Poem by EZEKIEL HARUNA DANBAKI

To you O' my son, I cannot give
A vast estate of fields and rooms
I have no influence that ensures you a ready place
Among men of wealth and affluence
I have no bequest of Gold refined
To pave your path to fame and eminence
But I lift to God in secret audience - unceasing prayers for you

The sun shall shine in your favour
The wind shall blow in your defense
The stones that make you stumble
Shall become your bars of gold

And when nothing goes just right, as it sometimes will
When life mutates into barrages of chaos
And the world seems cruel and unkind
When you wake at the dawn of a gloomy day
And fears become your jailer
Lift to God unceasing prayers
O' my son, there comes your help