My friends say I’ve got the hand of a poet,
But my, this long I didn’t know it,
Now what shall become of my wasted years?
I mourn my ignorance in tears.
Searching for my gift, I joined the church choir,
But I always seemed to sing just a note higher.
The director’s frequent frowns at my radiant face,
Told me point blank this wasn’t my place.
There was a day I tried to dance,
But it only took the people around a glance
And they all burst forth in thunderous laughter
At the lad who never dared return after.
Surely I must know how to cook,
After all the recipes were all in the book,
But there was something about the pepper and the salt
I just didn’t seem to be able to tell what.
Football was every boy’s hobby,
This I can like Bob and Tobby,
They placed me at the post and I stayed put,
But the ball always seemed to miss my foot!
“Now what shall become of me”, I mourned,
With pen and book I ran to the pond,
Perhaps if I try I can become a poet,
The magic! O I didn’t know it!
This poem was published in the February 2022 edition of the WSA magazine. Please click here to download.
Read – For Children Like Us – A Poem by Chijioke Emenike, Nigeria
