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GONE DAYS







By Ola Vincent omotade

Last fortnight,
I saw a kid stretch his palm in the open of a play field
I saw him twitch his youthful face in façade of direness
I saw him muster words in plea for pongilá

Heavens fell when his wish was granted
How his face shone with brightness of ecstasy
As a wrap of pongila landed in his palms
The softness of his heart

The beauty of his playfulness
How he runs helter skelter in freelance and high spiritedness
He bothers not about the morrow
What he will eat or drink
For mother has all in stock for him

Tomorrow, I will rise like other days
burdened with hustle of a future in making
With the tussle of a rigid life for providence
I will rise with the thought of sponsors
With the hope of parents who daily long for a better tomorrow.

I shall rise as always
But not in the cozy of corns and cornflakes
No longer with years sans of responsibility
No longer

I reach to a picture hung on the wall of my room
I see my self young and carefree
And I wished I were a kid again

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