Written by An adage long past claims that a man has but one day of birth
One day during the seasons when he came into this world
When he left his mother in pain and agony
Screaming for dear life
A single day when nothing but giving life matters
Wailing to survive, to live and let live
One day in the seasons when she hanged in the brink of life and death
One route to the land of the dead, the other to care for a human being
One day of birth when it all begun, when nine full moons of a bulge became a man
A man still has but one day of birth
One day when the wet nurse turned him over, slimy and ugly, and slapped his tiny buttocks
When his wail, any man no matter how great,
Cut through the silence of the night, tranquil chirping in the morning
When women ululate and men pat each other on the back
When a feast was held and animals lost their lives
As drought years became lighter to handle
War years had hope when the child was born
Whether great or small was not which family he came to
But how he handled himself, others, his rum
No man is born great, the Bard once wrote
Greatness is a journey, a destiny to be achieved
So a man sets out to be, what his mother intends him to be
Fear does him no good, but the gods bless him with it still
Pray, what destiny do the gods plan to lead him to
If he is strong on body, let him be a blacksmith
If he is strong in spirit, let him lead the war
If he is sharp in mind, let him lead his age group
If he lacks any quality, let him till the lands
If he is a man, let him marry and make children
For any man must walk through this world in his way
He must enjoy the good things and endure the wars
He must find a destiny, and travel through the world
For the weary traveler moves at his own pace
Whether he rides on a strong animal or a dying one
A man moves at the pace he wills
The horse or donkey or camel between his legs is but a vessel
His mind, and body, and spirit are slaves
He must decide whether the gods are real
Whether his mother is a god
Whether there are pains that can be relished
Or whether sadness is a good thing
For all things present here are necessary, all things that are, should be
A man must decide his fate, or let the gods, and his mother, decide
When he does eventually pass life to another
…and in the deep of the night, a cry cuts through the dark
A woman is wailing, thrusting in pain for a child she might never love
For a child who might not live, for something that could be anything
The serene night is trouble, the owls are quiet
Darkness is speaking, men, heads bowed, listening
Weapons in hand, yet no hope in their hearts
None else matters now, for the battles must be fought
The battles must be won, until one is lost
For as the adage goes, a man has but one day of birth
All others are but anniversaries.
Africa birth Birthday. African Poetry Death hope Love screams
Last modified: September 5, 2014
