(Dedicated to beloved Ipu L. Atoi Swu & Papa Maurice Wylie)

I see blisters form on the palm of his hands
From plowing the fields none understands.
If a man had a toy then for him it’s a spade.
His peers had playgrounds his-nature made.

When the beasts ravaged his land and life
The folks and their village was torn in strife.
He captured the last memories of his field;
A gun for an ol’ spade, his fate was sealed.

With a handful of comrades left the village;
With machete, spears, guns from olden age
And with grit they sought after the savages.
Born and raised in jungles had advantages.

Many scalps of enemies became a trophy
Hung on a tall bamboo pole for all to see,
Like an ensign left for the next generation.
To their oppressors, a defiant declaration.

I see him with a big gun guarding his nation.
Without, his wife and children an obsession. 
Soon the streets he once walked will recall
The bravery of a man who always stood tall.

I see him at his desk today, slogging away.
A figure of a man who stands tall any day.
He teaches me work ethics and principles 
Oh, how I aspire to be one of his disciples!

A. Anato Swu 
Satakha Town