When the streets sing him songs
And towers tell his tales
What would be my worth?
What tale will I tell?
What pride shall my progeny possess?
Would I say “I know him”?
Grey-haired, chewing-stick chewing
On a stool, stories spewing
“Same class of ’98, I know him”
Would my tale be “together we started
And then I tail empty-handed”?
Irø oh! I refuse
If that height must be shared
So be it
But then, my tale would be
“I helped him and her
And now we look down to see the sky”
Written by: Chukwuji Daniel
I am a member of the WRR editorial team.