POSTED 05/22/2018 12:54
Whenever a baby breathes,
The moon looses a lungful of air.
Like you forcing breathes out of your lung.
Some story are like a pencil drawing the universe
And hang them In our heart
Like portraits of men sculpted by love and bitterness.
Before dawn, a priest announced the birth of a baby
Embedded in the belly of tomorrow.
Behold, he comes with folded hands full of gifts to earth.
In his scalf are:
1. Do not force your memories out your mind.
2. Bring the image of kids and make them the portraits of the future.
3. Do not allow men with burnt souls to cross over,
Do not let their eye globules to form a river
Before you could say "Smile".
Behold a boy has been moulded from the soil of idemili,
To build a passage for songs and memories.
This is where the broken minds derives their glue.
For "Ojoto" has filled "Ume" - Strength into the lungs
Of this young god of the soil.
Some grey hairs with broken kolas on their palm murmured in acquaintance.
The same way the moon breathes the light bestowed unto this mother earth,
The same way a baby expectorates his dark breathes,
And suck to the light as breast.
Every morning, our roof echoes the cries of the young being,
Embedded in the throat of birds that sings "Hossanna to the lord".
But "I'll live to see tomorrow".
This is the only word that makes him a man,
Living with the breathes of forever good.
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