SONGS OF A SAINT WITCH
When old age becomes a curse
And the aged labelled witches;
Accused,afflicted and rejected
If this is the fruit of old age
Please give me not
For I need not.
I have become the devil in your prophecies,
The devil that gave you life?
That nurtured and gave you all?
Where was this evil when I gave you my all?
Now old and helpless,
Then you seek justifications for your rejection…
Now then I sing,
When this flesh shall give up
And my soul shall fly up
To rest in perfect peace
No, please give me not,
The hypocritical last honour.
Fattens of cows to be slaughtered;
Thousand canopies mounted;
Millions guests to bid me unheard farewell
Golden casket to lie me on state
Expensive programme to write your lies
Please this feigned honour give me not!
And if perchance you do,
Remember to tell the world
The last time you called on my domicile
Where I am dumped to die in instalments
Tell them the last time
I fed from crumbs that fell from your table…
Remember to tell them too,
The last time you sent me rags
To cover my bony body….
All these remember
When you feign to write me a tribute.
Tell my grandchildren__
The ones you never let to come to me
For I was tagged “A Witch” by your prophet…
Tell them granny loves them
And may they never pay you in equal coins
For this abandonment…
Let the link break..
© Etim Bassey Onyam
SONGS OF A SAINT WITCH
Most Africans neglect their aged parents when they need them most only to give them expensive burial ceremonies.
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