I call you ekwensu
Because you are the witch doctor
Who conjures with paper and pen the oracles of the muse.
You are the pharmacist
Who knows best the treatment of heart ailments
And prescribes drugs for catharsis
In your many captivating stories.
O great orator
Today I still sit in dust and ashes
Draped by the night of your death.
The compound walls
Where we gather to hear your tales have fallen,
Termites occupy the house
And vultures hover at the top.
I shall not grieve forever
I have built a monument of you in my heart
And in every home, school, and office
The wreath of your books, the tombstone of your life
We shall preserve and imitate
To purge the sadness of our hearts.
Copyright © ITSOGHOLE O SOLOMON | Year Posted 2022
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