We took Papa to the infirmary
Unconscious and fading
Like a plantain tree left standing
After the fruit’s harvest
He seemed paler and his hair grayer
Like an apparition in a vision
Like he was seeing god
Face to face, chit chatting about the weather
Maybe he won’t come back
Maybe he’ll come back lifeless
Bathed in embalmment oils
And incense smelling perfumes
Mummified in elegant robes
Cold and immortal like an effigy at Tussauds’.
And in dreams and daydreams
When the unconscious mind won’t let go
adeleke, let me say i like the condour of your work.this particular piece is very objective and real.just keep it up brother.deleadeogun@justice.com
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
i like the presentation of this poem; you make death look life, and give hope to seeminly hopeless situation. that should be one of the many goals of poetry well done!