BIDDING PAPA FAREWELL THROUGH A FESTIVAL OF MEMORIAL MEDITATIONS

Most times I wish to ask
Where do our lost ones go?

How does the snow let us know how feeble our bodies are
By noon their presence turns to memories

Perhaps, you shouldn’t rant about the empty caskets
When the knowing eyes silently point where they should be buried

I think a part of our anthem should include
May we not be made refugees in our homeland too

Sometimes I think of the clouds on the sky as some of them
A part of friends and family that never returned home

I try hard to remember the last sentence they made
I only see the shadow of another ”kainene”  

I know the glue of time will work its wonders
Perhaps not now but surely later.

*"kainene" - an igbo word for "lets keep watching"