Thursday, March 16, 2017

Poetry : In Memorial

Now if only you would come and feel
The pulse of my world view,
I know you would not be surprised that I think parenting is a role.
A huge, huge role for no dodgy soul.
And nothing measured by emotive dichotomy of sex;
Of who bears you in her belly or not that vex.
No disrespect to Mother Abeun, or any sentiment attached,
I love who does it betters for me
Of course, that is clearly my dad!
And you cannot but tell from my overplayed reverential card.
Once more, bless his benevolent soul in glorious ascent.
An elegant stallion on whose sides our love shall eternally be made descent.
Parenting for him was an exercise in unrestricted joy, a beholder’s beauty;
And not a tour of endured routinized duty.
But is there one with a father,
And not a mother?
Then forgive my contemptuous overlook, Mum, and this long.
I could easily have passed for a rudely ingrate unsung.
That, among men, I should talk less and less of you
Like come on, that is who?
But you know I am not;
And I could not have turned out an ungrateful social rot.
Now if but in the grace of poesy,
I must bring you this deserved expiation and reflectively cosy.
For alive, a fragile rosebud, that is pretty what you are.
From the break of day till dusk your ways are just as fair.
Fruitful if tabooed to number your children.
But male and female we are for all excellent distances to reference.
Let your siblings be good to go in their gold and cars and house.
Yet you towered all being mother of these lovely and obedient children with a cruise. 
                                                                                                    For Abeun Olaluwe


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