I might not clothe thee with an expensive embroidered multi- coloured shawl.Thy water non-resistant napkin could be a dirty piece of battered rag.The dryness of thy thirsty throat might be quenched by the sour taste of thy mother's breast milk.Ye might smell the sun early by thy white innocent face and wallow in hurt.Never tired, ever ready, we would convincingly anticipate thy smileFrom thy cot to my hands, i would watch thee grow in conscious willShowering thee with exuberant love, even when my nights turns wet from stinking perfume of thy urineLo, my heart would melt in fatherly gladness of his son's peaceful sleep.
My fallen teeth might not be able to verbalise in learned white languageAnd my menial jobs might bring thee shame in the midst of thy influential friendsI might chastise thy attitude and beseech thee to medicate indoors instead of visiting false appealing tyrantsI would give ye dried cassava than push thee to work for the wealthy and monthly get no payWhen thy mother correct thee with the anger of her tongue lest you fall, take no offencePardon the selfless scribbled rulesBut whatever rope thou did sow yesterday, ye shall sadly or pleasingly wearAnd if ye look fearlessly at the scorching sun without cover, ye shall blurrily observe a clear atmosphere.
Do not be deceived by the beauty of those ugly maidensFor ye wouldst regret when her lotion drops in emptinessThe world might make thee hate thy being and crave for an existence of vainUpon thy head, thine humble crown bring thee great thingsAnd its epilogue when ye choose lies to honesty is superficial madness Finally, forget not the end of a defenceless riches and fameWhen ye look back at our striving parental sorrowYe will eventually love us tomorrow.
Written by Joseph Sam Sarah.