A young black stag in a tranquil wood
listens to the winds and lonely stood
in the shade birds blithe songs adrift
while the herd graze his heart a lift
from the recess of his heart they whirl
the words come in a bubble, in a twirl
that stag was me, tender age at school
alone in the wood while others in spool
I asked myself where this feeling comes
so natural and real as the balm that calms
never knew poets are born from altitudes
that truly determine their real altitudes
then I knew Africa is a Destiny’s child
in its vicissitudes ebbed in nature’s wild
while Christianity ebbed in Western world
Africa is agog and still propagate the word
when the pioneers become the backsliders
God works with the meek, gospel builders.
Written by
Dela Bobobee
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem