By Atok Dan Baguoot
Mine is as little as any other little journey,
A soul-searching journey,
Started on the foot of a tall house of pride
As a lonely little boy herding cattle in the swarm of Upper Nile,
Squarely faced by realities of the long struggle,
Disciplined by a bitter sense of death
The core concept of every struggle,
seen and tasting the nastiness of war
What did I learn in that little costly journey?
It is none other than bitterness,
A remorsefulness of losing loved ones,
moving barefooted on thorny and rocky grounds,
walking distances taller than my childhood ambition
nodding and napping while trekking
trans-nights like nocturnal
It is a life rashly spent aching,
a life spent etching with lice and lies,
echoing on the egos of gilts-edge,
full with boyish recklessness
Doomed to death,
but on the mercy of nature,
we emerged alive and well
No comments:
Post a Comment