D M Aderibigbe



I woke with the previous night
stuffed in my heart.
The previous night I cried
on receiving the news
of my admission
into the university.
3 year-old depression,
killed by a day-old happiness.
Doesn't celebration start with a day?            
My happy mother cannot celebrate.
She lays sickly on the bed
like a wire, her rich flesh ruined
by an ambitious sickness.
My eyelash, a skirt brought
out of a stream.






















This poem details the one of the last days of my mum. It's about the day i matriculated in the university, which was exactly a week before my mum died. It was supposed to be a day of joy for my mother seeing her first son in the university. But reverse was the case, because my mum knew she wasn't going to see me graduate. This poem like the others i wrote for my mum is a protest to my past.