When The Week Is Dead Poem by Garba Ado Ibrahim

When the week is dead, the stars moon and sun from neighbouring world, with their eyes filled with tears and their hearts filled, with sorrow and pain that a good friend, is asleep and no hope he will be awaked, will attend the funeral of their heart-felt friend, jungles and forests the seas and all oceans, ponds and some rivers i remember some lakes, desert the hills and all mountains, will be in attendence, in anger and anxiety the frustrations and tensions. May your soul rest in peace week our friend so they will say, so generous and humble yet you are so kind, you have given and you promoted, you have advised and you tolerated, now you have gone and leave us in pain, and may we have the fortitude of bearing your loss. When the week is dead i will appear, with all my hope from nowhere, to mourn and ask your father to give me your hand, and this word is a golden, not an iron.