Unborn Poem by David Oladipupo Olorunshola

Will it not have been better
Not to be born at all
If blood had not been poured
And men had not sat together
In the hope of giving a name

From the recess of their imagery
They came up with pain so painful
That it becomes the label of sort
None is a  stranger to pain
Though a man of honour

Yet giving to much servitude
A recurring decimal of a lifetime
A man so tall in stature
Yet so diminished as a person
Nothing sufficient to placate

Man giving to sorrow learn to pray
Every stage seems a curse
Every path taking seems blocked
Nothing  seems to work
For the angels are silent waiting

Until the censers are lighted
To bring sweet aroma up
That the maker may be appeased
That He may be awakened
Like a man who slumbers

Let my hands be raised
And let it not be  hanged down
My heart is humbled before you
Watch me in red blood anew
Ha, that my coast may be enlarged
That my heart may enlarge
With capacity for outpouring
Oh that my thanks know no bound