The kokoriko of the hen resonated from behind the window
The chuckles of the chicks penetrated right inside my ears
My mind processing the information in slumber
It is time to wake up and face reality.
One, two, three, four, five of us packed on the same bed
Each thinking how to get up in strategy
Because some of our bladders uncontrollably flowed all night.
Who will be accused, who will be the scape goat?
The spirit of Judas had possessed one of us: the eldest
He had quickly undressed, metamorphosed in a new, clean, innocent person,
The scape goat had already been designated.
As these questions paraded our minds
An imposing, advancing, angered voice called in an ascending tone:
“Willy! Willy! Willy! Woukop kam fo here”; it was my mother’s
I knew my day would be long, very long indeed.
Whipping, crying, hunger, doing all the chores, fetching wood
Was the meaning of that call and no justification was needed.
It was time to get up and do the routine, with love, smile and joy.
Home has always been like that during childhood,
The first to get up always got exempted, you know what I mean.
A happy and free weekend depended on swiftness, smartness and strategy.
It was something great and moulding.
Read – The Mantra – A poem by Matthew Daniel, Nigeria
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