When the horrific accident happened,
the Clarion call of death was answered
by my beloved parents, my feathers;
by my legs, not my body. No!
not my soul; for, this Island became
a desert, watered everyday,
for another seed to sprout. yet, fruitless;
I am left with camouflages,
after the bloody accident.
Father used to say "God is always doing
good, and will continue to…",
Mom would only tell me fairytales;
Just as a duck would protect her chicks.
But, they couldn't bid goodbye
before they joggled to whirling wind,
when the horrific accident happened;
A hummingbird howled on my grandmas' roof.
Those old women have to become barren
like the mango tree people once assembled beneath.
I wonder if He's still always doing good.
A minute walk becomes a year race
in the wheelchair. Yet, I find my existence is a grace;
For, the sun that shimmers like a beacon,
the one that scorns; the moonless night,
the stars that shine in the grey sky;
a hope that I could see.
For the food that's like Okun river,
the one that's like freshwater, I could taste.
For the glimmering future –even,
with the crowd of darkness, currently–
I could dream.
My existence is a grace!
Your existence is a grace!
Our existence is a grace!.
About the author:
Abdulbasit Oluwanishola is a young Nigerian poet that writes from Ilorin, Kwara State, Nigeria. He is a student of Usman Danfodio University Sokoto, studying Agriculture. His work is up on arts lounge. He is a book project consultant.
Discussing disabled characters in fairy tales and folklore!