REOPENING A HERO S SONGBOOK

Written by: femi joey oloidi

In his songbook,
are raving songs of beauty,
which thrushes around the phrases of my mind

and embroiders my soul on an errand 
into a white night of a white Christmas, 
in a white dreamland, 
and having sleepless dreams, 
and numerous pictures, 
which I can’t clearly depict

but I could reminder an auction, 
where flood, was sold at a discount
and breath, to the tallest bidder

Therein in, 
my late hero brother, 
cheerfully sang from his hero’s songbook 

and I astonishingly sang along 
with a bright smile and cry,
craving for a new hug,
but we could not hug nor shake hands

And he palely said to me,
I am back to stay,
never to leave

But I woke up, to notice it was a white lie,

Why so, my hero brother?

I try to anger in white lightning, 
but I notice that my anger is colourless
and my sweat is adourless 
 
I also try to use white magical feelings to give him a hug or bring him back, 
but I could not,
because I am not a professional white witch, 
 
My emotions has been white washed,
and I feel like white trash,
because my hero brother has been trash away from me, 
by death 

I feel like giving up my white ghost, 
like a prostituted white slave, 

by drinking up a full tank of white spirit liquid, 
so I could be on his ream

But my hero brother begged me not to

He consoled me by saying; 
that no matter how transparently apart we where,
his soul will never stop blowing the whistle of joy 
or flash a white flag in surrender to death 

Because his music will never end, nor will his whistle blend, 
because the only thing he has freely given to death is a white feather of shame

This filled me will plenty white hope,

I will sob no more!
Because I now know that my hero late brother is a white knight

I will wait for him, in this unlabeled white land
till we meet and share hugs again