It is from you
And your fellow grey-haired gentlemen
That I hear the strange saying
That adults never lie.
I am yet to understand why the many As
You claim you had in school
Do not correlate with the many Fs we find
Gallivanting the corners of your room
On sanitation days.
Why then do you cast me away
Each time I return with white sheets
Abundantly designed with red ink?
Do you and your fellow grey-haired gentlemen not say
That a child cannot resemble a log of wood?
Now I am sure of my root.
You tell me often
How your friends were all boys
And to no female did you incline all your childhood days.
Since adults never lie,
I choose to believe that grandma`s stories
Are products of hallucination.
The pieces of meat I violently take by force
In the presence of nobody;
‘An act of treachery’
As you choose to call it,
May just be a cousin to
The missing funds in your office,
Your very own desk.
Odídere, my friend, and son to your colleague
Tells me of your many escapades
Discussed at dinner
I marvel at your expertise
In editing figures to become abundantly zeroed.
Your sermons at family devotions,
Your pieces of advice at dawn,
Your tales, fables and folklore at dusk,
Your questioning looks,
Your cane-loving hands,
Your disciplinary actions,
All asked me to give you a word:
Be the man you want your son to be.
Lead the life of a leader,
A true leader,
An exemplary life.
Make your son know you were once a son.
Assure him you know how it feels to be a child.
Correct him in love.
Your loving son.
Written by Akinsiwaju Sanya