When We Were Only Boys Poem by Martins Akhoeneto

I knew you when the morning wore no mask of gold,
When dreams were stitched by hands both humble, brave, and bold.
Before the weight of wealth could bend the human heart,
Before proud walls were built to keep old friends apart.

In Ivhiokhile's dust we chased the laughing breeze,
With catapults and barefoot steps beneath the trees.
The streams would sing while sunlight danced on rippling foam,
And every path we wandered gently led us home.

My father taught with chalk; my mother served with grace,
Their simple meals still wear the fragrance of that place.
Our table stretched its arms before we spoke a word,
For love needs not permission—it is simply heard.

Your father's voice grew silent far before its time,
Yet Grandma raised you strong through every hill you climbed.
Aloye, my first brother though no blood we shared,
Together, side by side, we lived because we cared.

We hunted through the fields where restless grasses swayed,
The forests knew our laughter, never once betrayed.
We studied by dim lanterns chasing distant light,
Believing every dawn would surely conquer night.

Then time arrived with pockets full of glittering dust,
And whispered into hearts until it poisoned trust.
The gold that filled the hands left empty souls behind,
For riches often steal the eyesight of the mind.

I stood beside your grief when death embraced your home,
Your mother's grave became a place where tears were sown.
I wept with you and held tomorrow in my hand,
Believing hope would bloom like rain upon dry land.

Yet now you choose the echoes born from borrowed lies,
Ignoring all the truth that looked you in the eyes.
A stranger's fleeting story outweighed years we knew,
And twenty-four long seasons lost their voice to you.

You called me friend while sharpening whispers in the shade,
Where unseen tongues performed the deepest wounds they made.
The knife that cuts behind the back leaves hidden scars,
Yet Heaven counts the wounds beneath forgotten stars.

I shall not trade my peace to wrestle every lie,
For truth, though buried deep, will one day pierce the sky.
Posterity shall judge what memory cannot hide;
Time writes with faithful ink where falsehoods cannot abide.

If ever you remember boys beneath the sun,
Recall the race we started long before wealth won.
For friendship is not measured by the coins we keep—
But by the promises remembered... and the tears we weep.