MY LAST MEAL

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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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