when you opened your eyes to look at me,
i had hoped you would know who i am,
reminded of the great queen you groomed me to be,
the wind beneath your wings.
you were loving, caring and old,
we always invaded your humble abode.
there was something about an unmanageable three generations in one room,
that made history seem tangible.
her frail fingers casually carried 71 years of her life,
they tell stories.
her index finger crookedly points me down memory lane,
to a time.
a time when two piece meal ya hungry lion was a myth,
but she bought it for herself and gave it all to me.
a time when her house burnt down,
but old lady nonetheless bent down,
to water every brick that was laid and laid,
a home rebuilt.
a time when i constantly had to pause the dvd,
to explain why the man on the tv,
was running towards us.
nkuku your strength will not be forgotten.
like a seed that germinates,
you have grown and dispersed many more seeds.
we are not created or destroyed,
we are vessels shifted and restored,
what we are is given to us,
death does not come because the body is too exhausted to exist,
it comes because the greatness inside can only be contained for so long,
i will not cry for you,
because you are not dead,
you have passed on.
as i witnessed your years of strength,
i understood what life really meant,
that wrinkles are worth more than a diamond could ever be,
that the heavens have gained an angel,
and free at last you are free.
but when tomorrow starts without you,
we will try to understand,
that an angel came and called your name,
and took you by the hand.