A Season Of Tears Poem by Martins Akhoeneto

Slain willfully like a bull in yuletide
Was he, a man for all season
That lived on earth as St. Stephen’s
How much agony of gory sights
Must the son of torment show?
How much load of neck breaking aches,
How much consoling grief he faced
Amidst an ailment of another world
Making a brawny fellow a fairy
Weird and constricted in a strange look
A manner unknown to his people


Whose blood is this, whose stripling?
Laying helpless as a chick for xmas
Was there no nurse, no chemist?
Even of herbal origin, a remedial doctor
A malady had grown into a holocaust
A premonition of laid-up wrath and anger
Awaits every man, a diviner clamoured.
An heartsore that bore holes in banks
Why will men watch a sight of misery?
Why will men murder their own?
Some say it ease the growing pangs
Some say its horrid and some, vile.