Martins Akhoeneto


Proverb's Daughter - Poem by Martins Akhoeneto

The very last of it shall be When locust, bees shall plague On your daughter's till day-break But until then, don't call me I will forbid you, your unborn To greet my doorstep with sob I will repel your acclamation And leave thee to thy sorrowful cup The very last shall be it end Now that the curtain had fallen Your evil show, and nothing was earned But grief and grief so appalling For in many black nights, tears floods With a slap of time against odds These times you dine on lions head Whilst hunger usher my daughter to bed


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Poem Submitted: Tuesday, January 26, 2016

Poem Edited: Tuesday, January 26, 2016


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