The Toils Of Man Poem by Oyetunji Toba

They yelled day and night.
Curse is upon us, curse of our fathers sin.
In this curse we have grown, holed in darkness.
For sure, this is a curse on us.

We sow with tears our sheaves.
And our men's and women's go out weeping, carrying seeds to sow.
Yet, their crops yield return to none.
We lowly peasant cry night and day.
And our eyes now as heavy as mountain.
We are in bondage, wrapped in black curse.
We are bewitched by our fathers sins.

They weep, weep, and weep.
Their lives has become a battlefield of agony,
Where death and wrath lay around.
Their fathers sin they live through like a burn.

They yelled,
Something has happened to us.
We are scorned by what we own,
Sunk in despair.
No matter hard we live to accept fate, we felt them sharp -the taunt.
And still under the cloud of our father's regretful past, we cannot, but escape.

Oh! Oh! Oh!
Hath your father's yielded sword heavily?
To rain curse upon your weak souls.
To shed ocean tears from your face.

Lo, after all this years.
The union is o'er.
The creator hath ceased the flow of bitterness that has gone this far.
Your bonds are broken.
Now you are free from your father's curse, that raided you for years.