I Broke The Gourd Poem by Duncan Livingstone

It was the first evening,
The famine was about to get satisfied
With the juicy ribs that protruded from Mr Nera
And was about to say bye to that era
I made for the table
Though I wasn't able

'Dunny, do bring dat gourd, 'sounded granny
As my fat hands grasped the gourd, it grasped my hand
Like a giant who had never had lunch for the past many years
It made the milk spill all over my ears
My mother who was awake
Picked a very big rake

I thought the gourd had been broken
But my mother's silence proved that it was about
To be broken and to define my lethal fate that was asleep
She never beat me as the hammer could to a jeep
She beat me much
But not as such

The gourd left its feathers on creamy floors
I left my shirt dancing lazily on that bloody room
As it spelt all my treacherous doom
I broke that big famine
I broke that enemy of mine