Archive | May 2017

Heirloom

Heirloom

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Those sofas in the parlour have become family heirlooms which have been passed on from my great-grandfather, grandfather and now to my father. The only thing that has changed about those sofas is the clothing or should I say their ‘jacket.’
I wonder why father so much cherish them and has refused to change them to better and more modern ones. He has always said that, those chairs are part of his life and they remind him of his own grandfather (that is my own Great-grandfather) and his deft designs while he was a carpenter.

Mother once cautioned me, “Ololade, you better be careful with that chair you are jerking on and do not break its handle. Don’t you know it’s older than you?” Older than me? Like seriously? Did mother actually expect me to rise up every morning and venerate those chairs by prostrating before them? Wouldn’t it be an insane thing to do? But truly, I doubt if those chair handles could easily break. At least they are not like the modern and fancy ones sold around this days.

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But I hope soon and very soon, father breaks this his principle of treasuring all those heirlooms and get modern ones to replace them. Because, I’m tired of seeing those old chairs and his old wardrobe staring at me everyday and saying “Ori e o pe, don’t you have respect?”

Father shouldn’t even think of passing them down to me. Never! Never!! But I wouldn’t mind if he gives me his cars and company when he dies in years to come.

Bamigbola Silas.

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Gray Love

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He was the shadowy shallow man
who acts like a fastidious, prude puritan
Putting every man on a slate,
Sternly slating soiled sinners.
He seems to have the ‘book of life’ in his hands
And with pencil and eraser
He spells the wrath of wretched sinners
“You! you did this and this and that
You will rot in seething sulphurs”

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As He juries us,
He forgot he was also black and not white;
Now, we have spelt “Love” backward front
And it looks like “Hate.”
He has made us misunderstand God.

Grace is not actually what they have painted it to be:
Grace is spelt love
Grace appeared to all men
And love white and black as well.
Wouldn’t I call Grace gray?

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So I told gray love
“I’m a fetid filth
Whose life touse apart.”
“I know,” HE said,
“here’s red”
HE wiped my slate clean
Now, black has become white.

Bamigbola Silas