KILLED IN A CRADLE


The fortuneteller couldn't tell his fortune
The priest couldn't baptize him
He was killed in the cradle while he slept
Abortion was a better fate
But what he had was misfortunes

He has no chance to suckle
He had no chance wiggle
He had no chance to cry at midnight
He had no chance to crawl
He had no chance to eat the dirt while he played
He had no chance to smile at his parents
He was killed in a cradle while he slept
Executed by a unilateral jury

He experienced no love
He experienced no attention
He had never had a lullaby sang to him
He had no hugs nor kisses
He was killed at birth

How would the world know how mighty or small he could have been.
He never made anyone proud .
Perhaps he was a mistake, says the mother .
He was just a fantasy .
Nothing beyond a mere conception

His father could not pat his little head
Nor was he able to hold his little finger
He couldn't show him his love
He could never had been the father .
He never had to scold him

Now the father lays broken
He never had the honor to show what kind of father he could be
His chair crumbling under him
His feet can't support him but he can't sit
He has to move  forward
His heart is now heavier than a stone and it's sinking him
His neck tensed  with a burden of questions
Sorrows turned into songs with no one to dance to.
How did he lose a battle before it started?

Let him mourn his dead,
Let him let loose the pain,
He danced with trouble and broke his leg.
But in all these life goes on.

John Alake & Prince Rockson

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