Growing Up Poem by Vincent Igwilo

The sound of a cry
It comes from a little voice
So little it does not think of tomorrow
A kiss and and a lovely pat,
He knows is a morning ritual
The toys and friends a handy tool
He makes the mother come running
Either with a laugh or cry
Face so tender and soft,
I like to steal a kiss
Body so warm and light,
I desire to carry and fondle.
Wish to see the parents sudden fright and joy?
Make him speak for the first time

He compares self with others
Stocks up knowledge, without regarding values
Sees the world in full
And looks the mother in the eye
Adopts the face of the famous,
And forgets to look within
Seeks for a hand and companion,
Not of the same kind this time,
But follows the advice of shakra
Haste to make decision,
Alas, meets up with kharma
Bricks he bought
Either from the good or bad market,
He use to build himself and his world

A man he is called
Expected to live right and mature,
Sees his foolishness during early days
Admits his wrong
Takes up responsibilities
And reprove the lunatic
Is now with a companion
And flirting a story to be told
Sweats to put food on the table
And lovingly aids the young to keep feet,
Sets goals for himself,
And drives out from the land of fantasy
Breaks the walls of illusion and vain thought
To dwell in reality

On the border of the earth and spirit world
Sees the river of wisdom
Lives on fulfilled ambition
And laments on unfulfilled ones
Looks upon its filial generations
And remembers those days of full vigor and strenght
The cycle of life is repeated
As he reasons again so tender
Closer is he to nature,
Having met some goals
A symbol of honour, knowledge and wisdom
As his grand children look up to him
Spends most of his time thinking on,
How it feels to cross the border.