I often imagine another life for my uncle One where he does not live alone In a house he built A house with empty bedrooms and a deserted living room Where children are supposed To sleep and play and live in
But, you see Life happens And families break up And divorces are ugly And people get bitter And children side with their mother And private matters become public gist And the entire town hears About the girlfriends The betrayal The imprudence And there is no going back
I often imagine another life for my uncle One where he is not ill And he does not put on a brave face each time we see Or a firm voice each time I call One where he does not feel the need to pretend That everything is alright
You see My uncle is the splitting image of my father And sometimes when I look at him All I see is my father's face And this is too close to home This is too close to my chest How his heart has broken How he is his own undoing But are we not all shattered pieces? I cannot get the image out of my head Of how, at a time he should be surrounded with family and laughter, He instead sleeps and wakes and lives alone In that house in Ilorin