A Bewitched Child Laments Poem by Mosi Mustapha Gomina

Recoil I from the tendrils of darkness
While I trudge up the vale of my own fate
Knowing nought but the glut sevile silence
Whereupon I eddy in bemused state.


Should the chalices of these whirrs be sought
And the stables of their whispers be swept
I'll be a herald of its solemn wrought.
In a lone travel through honesty's depth.


Come hither forth that we may celebrate
All ye humans that are girdled with scorn
How amidst Nature's pawns, we reamin bait
Lea'ing us in disdain// in utter forlorn.