When the bitter memories strike,
And I cannot but weep
Like an infant, home alone,
Whose mother has gone to the market...
...when I open the door at every knock
Only to find a random visitor
Or mum calling her wood-splitter,
Her only love...
...when I look at the sky at night,
Counting the stars,
Making poems,
Only to look and not find you beside me...
...when my misty sighs, thick as smoke
Send up my wishes to the Father,
To hasten death or wealth...
...when I wish I had a better fate,
Or a better-cut face,
I also wish I am not so vain!
© Tayo Oladipo
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