He’s a reflection of men who went and came back
to teach our limbs how to walk in the dark.
He taught me how to burn bodies
of people who wrinkle linen of peace.
Not by peeling off their skins
and burrying their bones in burning lava,
but by burning their hearts with love
and carving bliss in the cleavage of their minds.
I learnt how light in stars dwindles into the dark
when man breaks the virginity of humanity.
Father dipped his tongue in a pot of enraging pain
and trickled his rage in a four-four folded terrace
just to remind my eyes
that the world has its anguish gnarled
for people like Jum-jumbo, Jessy and Betty
who cuddle streets with naked thighs.
Singing songs of unrythmic chords,
his gullet never ceased to convey beats and melodies
which twirled between his toothless gums,
sending out echoes in circles
to remind my ears
that the world only consumes voices
that pay homage to the rich
and not the poor.
My eyes whirled around his teary lids
and touched his feet,
for my life will always seek warmth in his words
and lick widsom from his palms.
In awe let me dip my pen in boiling ink
and scribble on wet paper a verse for him.