Born To Write
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"The Bitter Tears" Under this shade Heat is showered Only in the forest not a living place I wish my parents emerge here Am no good to walk with my peer If I will ever have minutes of rest To sleep with rats Must I return at long last? For the leftovers Rats will spend night on me Biting my thumbs and feet Then emptying the plates The eloquent public speech Turns to oppression Child, sufuria and clothes All for me to observe School is behind the kitchen No short cut unless that tedious road Breakfast before I brush and wash I wash crockery Day scholars dot for their lessons The brush and washing before breakfast usually Before taking breakfast I do This sleeping maniac throws basket That's the lunch beginning Big words thrown on me My friends get rid of the breakfast On my walk to the market Lunch will be ready And I must be sent somewhere in a while On my return supper should be prepared By the time I see those uniforms I admire Along the road I will be busy in my bedroom Stirring competing with darkness They later go for dinner me dressing beds God you have seen all these Sweet daddy you left me here Mummy with you as well Who shall I call next? Oh doves you are said to be kind Bear mercy on me I am twenty years, young I can't weigh the beauty I possess Boys see me and walk on all fours Admiring me in my daily dress My bare feet and smile broadly I can't write a single letter of love You love me I get it But I admire sufuria more than you For I am used to it That's why I always turn my face aside Then you beckon on my back I will marry knowledge Worse I still fear That in a day or two I'll get good clothes and shoes Heading for a villager's home Before getting my dreams true I'll rather marry rats if not a Penn "The shadow" Dull and motionless You can’t make it to any direction in my absence You can’t stand firm And make your steps away from me You seem as if glued to my body No I can’t feel you and stand to defend you You follow me without permission And get into my properly managed room Black in colour you are In excessive light you emerge and disappear Under the loft of my house when I search I can’t find you Out of my room you appear again Taking closer look at you I don’t understand what makes you up I therefore bow to pull you up To ask a few questions but touch the soil Not a respond to my words either When I kick, run, stop, wave my hands, jump and sit you imitate You don’t create your styles You appear naked always So you are eligible to walk with me unless dressed up "An African child" In the birth of age Was the face of an African child Under the scorching sun Cries and tears Fatherless and motherless Under the scorching sun Rumors and wails He sighed and prostrated Booms multiplied And the child in a valley Woes and terror The Artillery sounded And the child in a valley The dragon flies in the sky No dance no laughter Blinked, the eyes down Nothing much to spare Breath and life Death and sorrow Nothing much to spare A day to come for your life Roars uncounted Bellies shrunken Memories were by-gone Stomach and hunger Brains and thoughts Memories were by-gone Worries quietened hungry stomachs Banged and clutched The child emaciated with a spoon On the river bank Quenched and rose A step and fell On the river bank A fisherman closer to rescue The steps of the Samaritans A few kilometers ahead A child longing for refuge Legs weakened Eyes helpless A child longing for refuge Got a sail for refuge Vast and populated The refugees foresaw their future The child in a feeding centre Epidemics and lives lost Rain and shine The child in a feeding centre Getting alphabets All fruits and leaves edible In the rainy season An African child under feeding Young and feeding program Old and fruits and leaves An African child under feeding But the camp shifted stopping attacks "Born To Toil" They think I was born to toil Depression pains like a boil Contradictory sweats for love Success, originality of love Thin and weak Words stooked fall apart and leak My dad said I would marry a daughter of saints Lady who admits feminism Disregards no social class A middle class's lady who knows life Knows veins of her man's heart The hardest task in life Rays cut through the young night Nourish my short sight Not born to toil Lovers forge and fake Me not fake I deliver a young poet Not in toil spot My dad cautioned when he died To not marry a lady who is adamant Believes in affluence Full of herself Sleeps late Talks Turkey Locks feelings in pretense My beloved son As I now die for your freedom Marry when I shall have spent fifteen years in paradise Beauty is heartless Beauty may have bright eyes Marry a lady who plays the harp I shall send you lust's spirit forty days on top Coarse voice awoke me last night Listen to your destiny Don't marry a gossiper Bloodily ignoramus Time is ripe remove your garment You were born to not toil Am not born to toil
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About the Book
Born to write is a poetry collection. It contains the voice of the suffering Africans and entirely the observant voices who feel compassionate about them. Most of the poems were written out of the experience of the writer. The collection is organized based on the common message the poems convey to the society. It incorporates humor to knit the ideas in their flow. As you see inside, you will realize what it contains.
About the Author
Mam'er Abraham Ku'ot (Sabbath de Yecouba) is a Journalist and a poet. He studied Journalism and Mass Communication at Mount Kenya University, Kenya. Sabbath was born in Panyagoor, the current headquarter of Twic East County, South Sudan in 1985. He now lives in Juba, South Sudan.