Onyenachia Munachim Poem by samuel nze

Man is lonely at birth, they say
Even when his dreams keep him company;
We all need dreams to move on,
To save ourselves from death.
Gloom is death,
Deflation concomitant with
Not knowing what to do;
A miserly scrape here and there
Brings nothing until we use our gifts;
There is buried in us
A truest calling loud and clear and sharp
That must persuade us to success;
Some were born to use their heads,
Others their hands or legs or bodies,
Each with his spirit, his destiny,
His truth;
No one better, no one worse;
We are all born to search and find,
To ask and receive,
to knock and be opened to;
I am me, you are you,
Onyenachia
Munachim.