Bedridden, still, my pen speaks.
This poem is not about promises—
What I will or will not do.

Out of the deep she will appear
With glossy skin as of a fish.
Run, run, she will,
Chase, chase, will I,
Until the two shall become weak
And have no strength in her limbs.

Not for emphasis but it’s true.
This poem is not about promises—
What I will or will not do.

I will say, Mother, this is her,
Father, meet your daughter,
One from whom your legacy
Shall continue—established, even.
And with mouth full of Kola,
They will say, My daughter,
Blessed art thou among women.

Maybe it’s an acumen, still,
This poem is not about promises—
What I will or will not do.

The crowd away,
Father and Mother away,
Drums and gongs away,
Fishes and crabs away,
Just us tonight—
A holy communion of love.

But, again I say,
This poem is not about promises—
What I will or will not do.

Arise, little one, Arise
Welcome to the world we made you.
Eyes bright like sunshine,
Reflection of Mama’s beauty,
And intelligence as of Papa’s.
Step by step, we will, together,
Teach you to walk, talk and fly.

Yes, yes, but,
This poem is not about promises—
What I will or will not do.

Maybe a second, maybe a third
Whatever it shall be
That nature shall deal unto us,
We will lead, teach and nurture.
And in full blown grey
We will relax, together, and enjoy.

The intent of my heart in ink, but,
This poem is not about promises—
What I will or will not do.

Hagios A. Akins

(Drop your critique in the comments box)