Notes to Gogo 

Ifeanyichukwu

 

                                             AMEN!

 

                                           SO ENDS 

                                  My prayer for Gogo

                                     This rainy night,

                             Wedded by freezing breeze,

                          Brought fond memories of you.

 

                                           I SEE YOU

                                   In the mirror Gogo:

                      Even in the darkest times of the night 

                                         I see you still;

                            I close my eyes. I go back to      

                                         Teenageville -

                           It all comes clear, bold and real.

 

                                                 I LONG 

                                   To kiss the sweet aroma 

                            Eavesdropping from your kitchen,

                                Testament of easterly soups.

 

                                               A MILLION 

                             Strolls we made to the stream:

                          Fermented cassava and breadfruit - 

                                          Our lot and craft,

                                   Graced your firm palms;

                 Washed clothes left to dry on Idoto greens.

 

                                          THOSE LOFTY 

                             Hands that squeezed oranges... 

                       Juices flowing into my tender palms; 

                                      Those lumped balls 

                               Of fufu into my lusty mouth;

                                  Relished taste after taste 

                          Of the oft testified bitter leaf soup.

 

                                       YOUR BEAUTIFUL 

                                        Cursive writings 

                    Underlined your years of British exposure;

                     That blank note you gave me to scribble,

                                          I'll ink it with love 

                              Filled with fondest memories -

                      Wide as West Oakland to West Africa:

                                            Confluence 

                          Of creativity and new friendships.

 

                                               AS A 

                      Greying hair speaks of age and grace,

                   Gogo, your's seneraded strength and stay,

                             Until that dark-dressed death

                       Broke and sucked away your breath!

                           But not your towering legacies,

                           Long built with pride and aces!

 

                                               AMEN!

  • Author: Ifeanyichukwu Onwughalu (Pseudonym) (Offline Offline)
  • Published: April 12th, 2021 07:20
  • Comment from author about the poem: A personal reflection and tribute to grandmothers
  • Category: Unclassified
  • Views: 21
  • Users favorite of this poem: jarcher54
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Comments +

Comments3

  • Doggerel Dave

    Thanks for providing a window into a very different, textured world to mine Ifean, as well as your Gran.

  • Goldfinch60

    Very good words in total honour of your Gran.

    Andy

  • L. B. Mek

    like Doggerel Dave's comment articulated wonderfully, your writing brilliantly painted the intricate details of a daily life that we rarely get to experience, even those of us with African heritage
    so reading your words, is like a journey into a reality we can't experience even if we went backpacking across the tear-reddened earth of cultural royalty, that is Africa's undeniable legacy,
    a great dedication, bursting with colloquialism worded pride!

    • Ifeanyichukwu

      Thank you Mek.
      You captured it very well. We often tend to overlook our roots, our heritage and those on whose shoulders we climbed to reach the mountains. This poem subtly amplifies all these and most especially, the personae - grandmas, who have sacrificed so much for us. We'll keep appreciating our women where ever they are.



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