Like a herd of goats
We grew up not trapped
Between the towering walls of civilization
We, children of the 13th lane.
A mother to one
Was a mother to all
And the rod was never spared
When we went astray from the narrow way.
Barefooted did we march on the streets
Plugging mangoes and quivering our little fingers
At the sight of flamingoes hovering in the sky.
At night, we gathered
Beneath the shadows of the Iroko tree
To listen to terrifying tales
Of disobedient children who evoke snakes
By whispering at night.
Now, decades have flipped
Like an hopeless book caught in the wind
To see dry bones entangled in wobbling bodies
The fortunate ones, swallowed up by the grave
But not even my grey hairs
Will ever dim the memories of my childhood.
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From @gandhibaba