Personal Eden Poem by pedro moshood

We hardly valued the worth of gold
when we cracked palm-nut shells with stones
or when we placed pitchers on aching heads
and trekked miles with these to the village stream.

At home mother would count the profit
daily from her firewood and black coal sales.
The future was like an eclipsed star
far from our earth reach, the sky was a limit.

At every noon I would watch our neighbours
in pressed school uniforms, smartly dressed.
Those with the means always find in their labours
the stars and secure the place for their children.

But I had no means to such ends;
So I bear the cross by the glowing hearth light,
through the thick starless hours,
to crack melons, bind woods and slice cassavas.

I saw life as different hades, the future
like oiless lamp, when I saw Eden
in my parent's master'st gardens
where we tilled and toiled as dailies.

Do I desire great fortunes with a pledge
or even know any among the eminents
to bring me in the brotherhood of great stars
or make me a muse behind your own stars?

I would sit from dawn to dusk
with a pen to scramble strange alphabets.
I saw no hope in mama's eyes at papa's death
but in my little formal knowledge;

I am an architect to my horizon.
Although not an astrologer, the stars
often dropped in myth by Ogun river.
I hardly see Eden through this but in my pen.

The architect through plan knows the path,
starting from the rough sketch, bring out the shapes
like mapped segments and set the landscape,
when you know yours you will predict your future.