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THE SORROWS OF THE BACHELOR
The sorrows of the Bachelor
The secrecy of the world has make one in many minds,
For the numerous blind children roaring in scrotum,
Shouting for mother to give sight for future,
Fatigued in washing old black pots of ancestral fathers.
Long waiting for comforter to enroll the game of nature,
Groaning in night for no child to padlock the bolts,
The voices of babies unborn entrenched the bones,
While cutting the hays in patching the leaking roofs.
The floors of the house occupied by the drying grasses,
Four corners of my room measured not my length,
When Will our fathers wear trousers for rest,
O bachelors of future when Will you change your old mother's pants.
Call me not bachelor in my home town,
The bride-price of queens had leaning my length flesh,
Hoping but to live in desert hole,
O I am a bachelor of conscience for beings save.
Hail me not that blind bachelors in my secret room,
Jumping and staggering are truth of drunkards,
Hoping in moon light smiling but touching the walls,
Zooming in booming the music of the day.
Name my not that bachelor there I stay,
For my grandmother lull toys to rest,
Why flies assembling in frying pan of mine,
The butterflies in waiting in the Sun dark.
I'm old bachelor in my youthful age,
Though flesh and flexible but no fingers to count,
The storing water pots had broken, when potters are at sleep,
O Who shall I whisper my yearly anguish in my old room,
I fathered no child why nature counting my days,
Roaring on the bed but touching and seizing the passers-by wall ant,
Who should ask me the old stories of my origin,
The flesh has not but multiple eyes on towers,
The door close closed, the house unsweep sweeps all at my expense,
No child sighting cockroaches merriment on my plates,
Things left things waiting all the ranged by nature,
The bitter stream flowing in my soul.
O lend me that old thread for the stitching of my torn pants,
Looking in seeing the fatherless children,
Hoping in seeing, the childless mothers,
Wailing in gazing feeling for orphans.
© Nwankwo Johnson C.
The secrecy of the world has make one in many minds,
For the numerous blind children roaring in scrotum,
Shouting for mother to give sight for future,
Fatigued in washing old black pots of ancestral fathers.
Long waiting for comforter to enroll the game of nature,
Groaning in night for no child to padlock the bolts,
The voices of babies unborn entrenched the bones,
While cutting the hays in patching the leaking roofs.
The floors of the house occupied by the drying grasses,
Four corners of my room measured not my length,
When Will our fathers wear trousers for rest,
O bachelors of future when Will you change your old mother's pants.
Call me not bachelor in my home town,
The bride-price of queens had leaning my length flesh,
Hoping but to live in desert hole,
O I am a bachelor of conscience for beings save.
Hail me not that blind bachelors in my secret room,
Jumping and staggering are truth of drunkards,
Hoping in moon light smiling but touching the walls,
Zooming in booming the music of the day.
Name my not that bachelor there I stay,
For my grandmother lull toys to rest,
Why flies assembling in frying pan of mine,
The butterflies in waiting in the Sun dark.
I'm old bachelor in my youthful age,
Though flesh and flexible but no fingers to count,
The storing water pots had broken, when potters are at sleep,
O Who shall I whisper my yearly anguish in my old room,
I fathered no child why nature counting my days,
Roaring on the bed but touching and seizing the passers-by wall ant,
Who should ask me the old stories of my origin,
The flesh has not but multiple eyes on towers,
The door close closed, the house unsweep sweeps all at my expense,
No child sighting cockroaches merriment on my plates,
Things left things waiting all the ranged by nature,
The bitter stream flowing in my soul.
O lend me that old thread for the stitching of my torn pants,
Looking in seeing the fatherless children,
Hoping in seeing, the childless mothers,
Wailing in gazing feeling for orphans.
© Nwankwo Johnson C.
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