On His Birth Poem by Martins Akhoeneto

On the day they bore him
A drum of cheer sounded
Inside the blinded night
The sun had gone exile; to nap
And the moon guided the night
And crickets whisper,
Precious glee of nightingale scream
In a thrilling rhythm, yet vague tune
Of yore, it was good June.


Favour, prudence, beaming, beaming
From the blue skies came the morning rays
To grace our fire cooking tray
That tray that took eagles claws
And cast on red man made clay


Yell! A fretful cried
Filled vacuum around our wretched wall
It enters its maiden’s pinnal guide
It sent the errand, yes! It crawls
Squirts hot urine, like wine in tropics
His pappy gum pressed on two milk bags
And heavenly task nature bestows
At him though babe but twice priced
To the man that bore him.