Editor, thanks for the poets’ column!

I'm still here, a young man and no poet.

I carry the milkpail to arm-ringed celebrities

and I have not one bead of an arm-ring.

At the end of the old year we thank you,

Well of maternal love,

for holding us in times of peril

throughout the year.

The year has passed, it's barely gone,

fireworks marked its passage,

raised voices welcomed the new,

coming in its fashion.

Part us from our foolishness,

and straighten out our paths,

ignore all our transgressions

of the past year.

Please, today, bless Africa,

look on her paths with favour,

now restrain all teachings

leading us astray.

They're stealing our cattle on misty plains—

it pains my heart to say so—

I hope none of us is lost in the gloom

for all our sins.

The year has passed bearing news

of nothing but persecution,

confusion confounding

our praise of God.

Oppression and injustices

as well as crimes committed

by cheating and killing each other:

please appear in a vision.

Every earthly burden,

everything you did,

everybody's habits

have been recorded.

They're stealing our cattle on misty plains!

Where's the star the white man brought,

describing the bounty of heaven

to us on earth? Think about it!!

In the mist on the plains they're stealing our cattle!

The white man's bounty lies in Africa,

the cause of our tribulation.

And so we die.

The year has passed bearing news

of nothing but persecution

confusion confounding

our praise of God—Peace! Awu!!