There it lies, the unknown African baby br On warm and fertile African soil br Its birth place, as supple br And tender as a larva ejected br From a grain of maize br br There it lies with shut tight br Eyes as though it knows that br Earth is polluted unlike br The safe and sacrosanct environment br Of its mother's uterus br br There it lies in its cradle br A mat in a shanty br With hands folded into little br Fists as though it detests br To shake hands with the myriad br Of problems in its unsolicited milieu br And life br br There it lies on its mother's br Lap fed with her milk br But it is yet to find out that there br Are many others that shall br Be raised by only its mother br That ekes out a living from either br Petty trading or subsistence farming br Or both, unable to provide br Adequately for it and its siblings br br There it lies, the unknown African baby br Unaware that its fathers, now happy br For its birth br May soon trigger an br Internecine war that would quicken br Its maturity, making it either a ruthless br Baby soldier or man-soliciting baby br Bawd br br There it lies resting its head br On its father's proud shoulder br That displays a questionable manliness br But yet to find out he may be a straggler br Given to bottles and skirts br Which he litters all his unwholesome ways br Living worse than an infidel br br There it lies sleeping soundly br Unaware that problems br Will assail it with stress and insomnia br When weaned br br There it lies, the unknown African baby br Spic-and-span in a hand down br Under a leaking roof br How would it know that it might br Wander barefoot and in tatters br Being a miserable street urchin. br br (C) Chris Jibero. 1990.