Untitled Poem by Ntando.B Da poet

My younger brother killed a cow,
For it's meat but mostly it's hide,
That he knitted to a round shape.

He cutted down several trees-
And planted them in opposite.
Rectangular and in meters apart.

I could miss him in the afternoon,
He could show up with the moon,
Tired and dusty.
Principles and duties went rusty

My mother got her hands on-
The poor flesh that does no wrong.
The passion inner the heart, Inner-
The rib cage, remained untouched.

He became popular in the village-
At such a young age,
Villagers called him the best-
And his amigo the goodest.

In seven and eight- lies
Talent that is never out of date,
Hidden in deep rural.
Poor stars shining in the mist.

''Hence, never play for recognition,
Dribble with determination
And passion- Never forsake your
Pen however do not stop playing''