(ascerpts from The Old Woman’s Maid)

As death wooed me for that brief moment in time, I was momentarily glad; quite selfishly, that I wasn’t going to see (my wife) leave me like I have always dreaded she would some day. In the quiet torment of the mazy-whirls of my mind I saw my father dying all over again and all my old unanswered questions came up for answers again, questions I have always wanted to ask him, especially after he died.

‘Baba, mutuwa na da wuya? Mun amince duniyar ka da wuya.’
‘Father, is it hard to die? We now acknowledge the hassles of your world.’

I have since learnt that with life’s many diverse wards, there always lingers and roams a lie and that we all are ordinary reproductions and effigies of these many lies. We are all choking in the presence of the grip this glaring falsehood and still the inscrutable crux is never familiarized by us. Now that I know all fate is death and yet all knowing, I will love to know from him what is the best thing to do.

‘Do we sit out the stages of life’s ending trip, like you did in peaceful love for all that wasn’t recognized by those you showed real love or do we ignore it all?’

From the initial maiden cry each baby wails as it enters the world, to the difficulties of life it grows to experience as cruel lashes from mindless whips, these tastes we all come to know, own and inherit with time, age and experience.
‘But say oh father, is there better to merit?’ I would want to know this.

Baba, mutuwa na da wuya?
Mun amince duniyar ka da wuya.

Father, is it hard to die?
We acknowledge the hassles of your world.
With life’s wards always roams a lie;
We all are reproductions of its mould.

Choking in the presence of its grip,
The inscrutable crux not familiarized.
Do we sit out the stages of its trip,
Like your peaceful love that wasn’t recognized?

From the weep the baby wails
To the whip’s lashes life hails,
These tastes we own and inherit.
Say oh father, is there better to merit?