I’m pregnant with your innermost

By Atok Dan

If there is something I’m pregnant with,

It is your innermost will,

It’s only that you inculcated into me,

 I’m carrying it with me,

It is what others see as my latest pregnancy

Do they bother to know my time of delivery?

None

They only see me occupied by you

Wonders if somebody asks whether nature has reversed it,

I still tell them

A man can stay occupied,

I hold no baby in me but commissioned

To hold somebody’s promise

It is what has occupied me

I love seeing you in me

When tasked, hold on to a promise,

It is a timeless pregnancy

It does not adhere to biological feminine pregnancy

Both sexes can subscribe to it

In normalcy, promise suffers indelible breaches

None deemed it appropriate

If a man can campaign for a green environment,

Man can too campaign for the green promise,

A never broken promise,

 A lifelong promise 

I’m still pregnant of your inmost secret

In it, we will roof up our hut for future

In it, we shall flourish in later life

In it, we shall leave the desired legacy of

Fountain of love

By Atok Dan

In you, I see live

Your love reigns over me,

You are a fountain of love,

Your love glues loosen cartilages of my veins

Initials of your name amount to “MA”

For this can literally be mam,

For now, you are my adult mum,

For I had never known how much I loved my biological mother,

My age was a barrier in love,

But I know how she loves me

In my pathetic, you never relent to love

For you know

 I could be inconsistent but it never bothers you,

You are steadfast in business

Ma you never connive,

Through influence of riches of dishonest

For we are a bond by strong cartilage of hope

You are a natured Dinka

Which the rest are shortage

When one glares at your elegant posture,

One sees jovial love,

And that is me

How much I quantify your physique

I still underrate your docility towards me

How much they abhor your background,

You still tower among the dwarfs

Your dark complexion fascinates passerby wishers

Your smile exhilarates grim faces in cemetery

Ode to departed souls

By Atok Dan

I’m talking to you departed souls,

many of you have gone,

but you seem silent over events unfolding,

why many of you have gone earlier,

it is you, colossal souls,

you sacrificial lambs of the struggle,

though you are not watchful,

your souls still linger in the wilderness,

in vacuum

I know most of you‘ve gone,

with no visible decent graves,

with no read obituaries

but the cause is worth it

It is you the gone souls,

A day is designated for you

to know, that you are still indelible in our memories,

it is July 30^th of every year

21 days after our independence

On that day, we celebrate because of you

you had championed the course that claimed your souls

millions are not happy because of you

Triumphs in all odds

By Atok Dan

In all the odds, he triumphed,

he marched over the odds of the injustices,

for he was a man that conquered the mindset of oppressors,

to rewrite distorted history

he was a man whose ink dried on papers,

 in the land of dishonored agreements

he triumphed to change the unchanged,

When I recall,

the time his armies bowed in the torrential rains of bullets

he triumphed

he conquered self-professed armies of gods,

when I still recall,

the time he commanded his armies to capsize boats of lies,

he triumphed  in the  land of fallacies

for if I still bog my mind to invent the  wheel,

I see his strides,

I still see a finished job,

he did

When I still lift my head up amidst disarrays,

my psyche reminds me of the flood of blood,

which flooded all  the highlands of our country’s sides,

my mind still recalls all the whirling birds that,

 fatten on their fleshes,

the corpses of armies,

the collateral damage of the battle

When I still lift my head up in meditation,

my eyes still stumble on relics of war,

the traces of bones that littered the savannah,

the ornaments of beasts which fed of them

I still vow of living memories of ungodly people on the land,

when still reminded of the cries and wailing of innocents,

sorrows of widows and orphans,

I still remind of the cause of the war

I still see generations marching into the wild forests of our country