Out of the cradle to my mother’s breast,
Naked, striving for the comfort of her hand
With the pale tears trailing down my chest
Like the ones I see now, eating up the land.
Out of my mother’s hand the world I see.
Beaten, to the detriment of my will,
With my feet struggling for a school fee
Amidst the menace of societal ill!
Out of joy and helpless tears,
Starved with non to bid me condolence,
I kept this as a record of my years
Deep in my heart, washing away my innocence.
Out of words, in plea and thought,
Sick, drained by the misery of my childhood,
Lost to the little themes which I brought
From the chartered streets of falsehood;
Out of the faded light of the night,
Forsaken by the hopes that dimmed my way,
A little star has fallen, putting out all lights
That once shone in the cradle which I lay;
Out of my days and out of my life,
So young, but earnestly did I make
The chains that hooked me onto strife
Into the zeal that holds my heart as I wake!
meet the poet: Fesojaiye Dayz Atanle
I am a member of the WRR editorial team.