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Raised by his grandmother,
He understood the depth of life at a young age,
He delved deeper into existence as he turned each page,
Life was like a book before him.

He often asked intriguing questions,
Ones that made people wonder and ponder,
His mind was a blooming field,
Time facilitated the yield.

His grandmother told him stories about the night,
How it had concealed people’s light,
She told him about the mysteries that traversed its meadow,
And the treasures that hide in the shadows.

He dropped out of school,
His hands became his tools,
Penury wasn’t a setback,
His grandmother cried that she couldn’t support his education.

He stood like an Iroko tree,
His hope was as solid as a rock,
Although turbulence sometimes rocked his boat,
He had learned how to keep it afloat.

He was devoted to his grandmother,
He kept her teachings to heart,
He was desolate when she transcended to the beyond,
Life became a still muddy pond.

Gradually, he sailed across the sea of his grief,
He prospered in his craft,
He found love along the way,
Together they embraced both the grey and fray.


March 30, 2025.

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