Style And Rhythm: Death Inspired By Him (2)

As he did the opposite of his birth,

Giving the cries to us,

And taking the smiles,

And after the lightening,

He slept.

So peaceful he seemed,

Too peaceful for a normal slumber.

I nudged him.

No breath, no sound,

Just eternal peace.

In my sleep,

I see strangers walking on the clouds,

I recognise one of them,

It is him.

I shed a tear, and he sees it.

He tells me not to cry,

But to celebrate his life.

I watch him at heaven’s gate.

The man before him had been condemned.

I pray for him.

I awoke, not knowing if my prayers were answered.

If they were,

I see him

Preparing a room for me in the Golden City,

And making a great big ship to fulfil my dream of seeing Pluto.

The nursery empty, the morgue full.

He is cold.

As in the winter,

All is dead.

No spring to love,

No summer to laugh,

No autumn to harvest.

Adaudo Anyiam-Osigwe from her book of poems “Words from Beyond when Crying for Myself: Musings of Childhood”