by Ositadimma Amakeze
Published on: Jan 27, 2006
Topic:
Type: Poetry

Prior to morn’s awakening by the dusk
Ubayo is up with his stick by the ranch;
My shepherd boy, waiting on me while I sleep
Zealously waiting, singing his shepherd’s song.

Come Papa, the herd is waiting!
Look, let’s set out before the sun.
Mutu, please get up; others are standing
Be strong, we shall climb mountains today.

I heard him drool in dreams last night:
‘Ah, Mutu, this way, not that way,
You will be hurt Mutu, if you leap that way,
Would you talk to me if I were like you?’

Mutu is a jovial, galloping white calf.
‘Could you please talk to me?’ Ubayo often pleads
‘Say something at least, please do not moo.’
Mutu, I conceive, obliges Ubayo oftentimes.

But before the sun beams her rays in the field,
Ubayo’s stick and head have fallen in exhaustion;
This is how we shepherd our herd,
Ubayo on my shoulder, my wearied self behind the flock.


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