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Someplace, around the corner,
There, where my mind struggles,
Trying to make sense of it all,
Many questions remain unanswered;

I remember receiving that call,
Out of the blue on that fateful day,
They called out to you, severally,
But you had answered a higher one;

Not a day changes from sunrise to sundown,
That I do not reflect what could have been,
How thoae last minutes actually played through,
Where you in pain, or really felt nothing;

Rest on, my mother,
Friend to all,
Enemy to none,
A beautiful soul like no other.
Two years ago today my Mother passed away in her sleep. Those who gained access into her room, say she laid peacefully like a baby in demise.
Sleep on, sweet mother.
everything becomes mercurial,
across the land tempers rage,
the king has made his declaration,
subject only to the gods of the land;

for when you fail to truly educate,
the mind absorbs whate'er it will,
discerning between intent and action,
is necessary for reaction or circumspection;

but here we are,
yet again, at the familiar crossroads,
to the right or to take a left about-face,
to kick evil in the rear or kiss the devil.
The new President of if Nigeria, on the day of his inauguration, pronounced that the lingering subsidy on *** (petrol) was gone and all hell has been let loose on the land.

The coming days will be very interesting.
for many ran on fumes,
these few years,
living daily on hope,
and nothing else;

a great number wanted,
but the heavens never granted,
the privilege to see aturn in the tide,
to the dearly departed, sleep on;

and for the quick,
welcome to making history,
a rare opportunity to be amongst,
the countable, the reachable, the available;

whatever it is worth,
the next four can never be as darkly,
as the eight spent in vast backwardness,
time truly deserving to be forgotten;

but for the lessons learnt ,
nothing nostalgic of the cowtostrophic era,
every single element will get what is deserving,
karma always finds a way;

and for the hopeful many,
may your aspirations meet rapid improvements,
because today marks a departure from irreverence,
into days and nights of renewed hope.
Nigeria, the giant of Africa. The largest population of brilliant brown-skin people. The country with resources other nations can only pray, dream for; will be getting a new President today.

Heavens help us.
Tragedy struck the day,
Death stole you away,
From our lives forever,
To see you, again, never;

But only in my dream,
Our conversations stream,
Yet they feel ever so unreal,
How, how will I deal?

Now seven years gone,
The sadness still weighs a tonne,
Try, and I do, to make light,
But see the tears I fight;

Sleep on dear father,
And say hell to our mother,
The days will be long,
Yes, as I try to stay strong.
It's been seven years my father made his way back to his maker. It's a burden I'll live with, finding strength in the lessons that he left behind.
The quiet, it shouts at me,
Can't stand the noiseless ringing,
So I turn up the melody, higher,
Then, I'm at peace, with the loud calming.
The ones that bore me,
They are now no more,
The rest by each other,
They look on, unaware;

The past few moons,
For me have been tempestuous,
Navigating economy subtleties,
Around the harshness of present realities;

Sometimes my heart protests,
Send me a-clutching,
Reminds me in no mean terms,
Each beat is to pampered and nurtured;

Looking around me,
Is there anything lacking,
Yes, certainly there are,
And of course plenty to be grateful for;

So, laying here with my thoughts,
The moonshine barely casting a shadow,
Ticking closer, every second by every minute,
Toward the hour of hearty returns.
I'll be forty-three tomorrow March 14. Those that genuinely celebrate this day, both are no more, but I  make do with the ones here with me reminding me life is only for the living.
Dada Olowo Eyo Oct 2022
A mother's love,
Who can comprehend?
Only the ones above,
And below, bounds know no end;

Greater for the male child,
Her son, in whom she takes pride,
Whether he be gentle, or wild,
Always standing by his side;

Not nearly different,
Even for her daughter,
Praying off the malevolent,
Wishing her warmth and laughter;

So, when her joys abound,
And they must follow their hearts,
She remembers her eternal bond,
Almost resists, tearfully, as new life starts.
When my mother came down with a stroke,  about three years after the death of my father, I did not expect to be surprised because it was long time coming as her darling was no more there for the nightly long talks and meal sharing.

Being she was so emotional and was nowhere strong in that way, I worried, fearing the worst.

So, on the fifteenth of July twenty twenty-one, the apron strings severed permanently and my mother breathed her last in her sleep. We had a talk the previous afternoon over the phone and I told her not to worry over a domestic issue concerning a ward that was living with her.

She was seventy years old.
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