MY LAST MEAL



Image result for poverty in africa

These days

I smile

People asking me,

Hot-red glow(er)ing splinters dancing in their eye,

'Do you even know suffer?'

I just smile

Not because I perceive the aroma of Naira notes

Falling like the torrents of rain.

I heave a rueful sigh at his memory

And simply say 'I knew him'

'Until his death, I used to call him - Uncle'

'Farewell Old Foe' the Preacher man saluted on that day...

To the memories of hunger
Of penury

Of dry storehouses

Of morsels without the affection of a young red pepper sauce

Glowing with chilly ruddy hotness

My last meal with him.

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