Chris Agbiti Poet Narrative

The Travail of Owailo

In the dead of night,
I heard the cry of death;
A shrill cry it was, 
But a faint cry,
As of a heart fainting of strength.

It oozed out in a steady stream
Of soul-rending shrill
As of unending wail and groan
From a house lately frequented by the grim reaper.

"Owailo", mother had muttered in education,
Was in travail!
Her own slice of cross she must bear,
Of the divine curse of  travail appointed  
To all eves.

Owailo travails unto death!
The divine malediction of travail
Becomes for Owailo, 
The inevitable appointment with death
For her offspring she must never behold
Even as the offspring lives.

Oh hapless Owailo! 
The ill-fated reptile of the shrubbery,
Who else has beheld your fate
To plead your cause before the Law Giver
Before whom mercy and grace abound?

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