The old chain-watch on the table
Ticks away in cold despair –
It would have dangled from his slim wrist as you shook his hand
And he clasped yours in both palms like a priceless gift;
How worthless time is without a breath!

The three-quarter on the hanger
An air of subtle anger
The red cap that announced a forgotten chieftain –
All mundane burdens finally shed …

You could smell his sweat on the Isi’agu
The stale odor of his earth-suit
Now six feet below
And if you were still gullible you’d think that was him
But the real papa was the wind that swept past as you cried

Departed like a real sojourner
His stay once sweet but now over

(C)2010 J.Ifeme


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