Our Parents Are Not Getting Younger. Poem by Zainab Oluwafunbi Daud

Our parents are not getting younger.

Grey birds sit on my parent's mane
They wear agedness on their face
like the sky wears tears when it's cloudy
rue and joy conjugate on my face
their vigor now wanes to frailty.

As old age smooches their ability,
Lightning of joy sparkles in my heart
because their existence in my world
lightens my dark soul, so I'm happy
each time I pour my sight on their faces.

Sadness envelopes my mien
because they had to fall to raise me.
My parents belabored hard.
I tap sweetness from their sweat—like wine.
My heart melts for joy in having them.

My parent's old age lies my joy,
The for it is eating their encephalon
but I feel happy because they've tried.
The stories repeated at night for me—
From them, I've gathered the courage to soar higher.

Being aged makes me unhappy
The body breaks down by old age,
Grey hair makes Papa special,
Is it true, my parents are in their old age?
Their souls convey empathy to my heart.

As the world grows older
My parents tag along
and I am here, happily sad.