It's dim in here,
Mother said a word,
From the blunt astral world,
And I heard,
Whiles I sit and wedge,

Pity springy life in black veil,
Tears fleece my eyes,
It's enough of woe,
But wet faces won't dry,

Granny hums and curses;
Elegant ones bury the old rotten folks, Why feed me to the wolves in folds?
It's enough of dirges,
But sad faces won't smile,

Melancholy soaks red scarfs,
Pain is a greedy bully,
And a silly sly,
It drinks my tears,
whets the soul till it wears,
And imbibe every beat of my heart,
When memories comes by,

In the abdomen of these lands,
Rest with a crossed hands,
In the likes of Nefertiti,
Souls sprout out of God's manure,
Rest in the gut of the wooden casket,
Wake and,
Walk the path of a golden life,

For we are assets,
We grow on earth's culture,
After natures nurture,
We ripe and mature,
It cuts us down with a scythe,
Like reaping crops,
And serve us cold with makeups,
To the angry hungry  ground.

Mother is nice,
Death is malign,
May the ancestors be kind,
I will see you within a mile.

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Written by: Bawa Anyame Sadique