born today to die another day

Abiku,  a wicked child who choose to die
So he might not forsake the company of his mystic association.
He choose to dance with the spirit children around ose tree at the noon
But often watch out for a pregnant woman
To convey him to a home
Where his kinds are unwelcome.
After  the first bout of pain by his helpless mother,
He returns over and over to his parents
But would still return to his unseen group
To have fellowship with them at twilight on the roof
While they excite themselves with the cry of his mother
And drink the seasonal tears of his father.

Abiku, whose bond to his mystic mates,
Even the repeated burying of his parents in the forest
The greatest medicine man cannot break.

Abiku, who has several names
By which your parents beg you not to return
For it is not always easy to bid you farewell
At twilight only to receive you
With mixed tear and joy at the dawn.
They call you mayungbe, but to the forest you still go;
Kokumo but still dies;
Kashimawo, yet disappoint them;
Orukotan but yet often return with new names.

Abiku, a wicked child,
Who makes medicine men look
Like they don’t know their craft
And herbs lack medicinal power.

Abiku, a spirit child,
He whom season after season
His parents beg not to die again
And his mother’s labour pain excites
But along this temporal route
You regularly ply with delight against life
From harmattan till it rains.

Abiku, a wicked child,
In sickness is your joy
And disease makes you
Snuggle  your head in the breasts you suckle
But their recurrent tears will not make you stay.

Abiku, the spirit child,
He who with oja he is swaddled to the back
But under moonlight with whom mother still cry.
He who visit the poor and the rich,
And disease makes his parents poor.

Abiku, the spirit child,
Who walked this famished road,
Longing to be conceived
Yet hesitates to leave the company of his mystic companions.

Abiku, the spirit child,
You live today to die another day,
He whose face  marked on her knees
That when you returns you might come back and stay
But with agony on her groins to have him back

Abiku, the spirit child,
Your arms and legs frustrated medicine men bound with amulets
But would still come and go
For you enjoy your mother’s travail.

Abiku, the wicked child,
Even though life is trivial
On the Iroko tree your excitement knows no bound
As you sing and dance with the spirits.
Frm my upcoming book. TRUE LOVE IS CURSED


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