Spirit : Why do you weep, dear girl child,
Why do your voice disturb the plains?
Ringing out straight into the wild,
Do I offer, to console you, plantains?
Girl : Mother, leaving me behind, is gone,
Father, without an afterthought, followed,
Here I am, sitting tired and forlorn
My eyes, due to tears, are furrowed.
Spirit : They are gone for good or bad,
But with these wrinkled hands
Clasped around your little head,
Your chances are as thin as bands.
Girl. : Do not fail to tell me, kind spirit,
What my crime is in this little life
Should I continue in tears or quit it?
Say, I pray you, the cause of these strife.
Spirit : The sole reason for this dark tunnel,
For no cause your brain should rack,
Albeit, out of will, I am sent to tell,
You are born an African, born black.
YOU ARE READING
MIDNIGHT SUN
PoetryToday, we ought to wear our gauntlets, Put on our amour and canvass grits, Forward! Though our sword are skillets, We win even though we lost by bits.
