They drop like tears from a broken heart,
Flowing like tidal waves along its course
But drop and wash away stains
From the tiny branchless trees of the skin,
Like dews from the morning sky, they drop,
Every toss on the soil
The earth bears it all.
O! Brain sweat shed from inside
When the head does the task,
The brain bears your pores
And feel you when you drip,
Like moist on morning leaves,
When you drop and when you ooze
When eyes would gaze form pages to pages
Till head hosts vapors,
When hands would speak with letters to letters,
Like a poet’s pen in a high flow of lines.
O! Warm sweat shed from outside,
The skin bears your pores and feels you when you drip
An olive oil at a brethren’s face,
Though many have called thee hectic and frantic
And some, worthless and useless
For thou art not thus.
The earth is appeased at your drop
While mountains quiver at a thousand more.
O! Relentless eternal ritual to Mother earth,
Sacrament of the high and low,
Aged like Saturn’s moon,
You fragrance earth with sweat’s aroma
Then she offers the daily breads
That makes us smile and breathe,
O! Brawling man, toil hard, toil strong
But toil more endeared,
Genuine sweatdrops chase no rainbow.
For only when earth sucks our blood
And makes us still,
Only then will sweat come no more.
Written by: Fubara Benstowe
Edited by: Kukogho Iruesiri Samson
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