Many people have written poems about death- with deep statements about appreciating life while you have it. This isn’t one of them. Besides we all know I am not a poet- I tell stories. It is just something that popped in my head after I saw this picture on Nana Kofi Acquah’s timeline. You should go and see his photo exhibition at Alliance Francaise- ‘Don’t call me beautiful’. Intriguing name, isn’t it? Anyway, on to my impromptu poem😊
When I die, you should cry.
At least I’d be flattered if you did.
For those of you whose tear ducts are on retirement, you can do a moment of silence. That also works.
I am a crybaby- I plan to cry when I am saying my vows, when I first learn that I am pregnant, when I get my first car (I love troskis but we must move on), when I finally become a lawyer, when my son says ‘Mummy, I love you’ for the very first time…
You get the picture, don’t you?
Tears have a soothing effect. They also make me sleep soundly – like a baby who has had a good helping of Mama’s delicious milk.
I will be honoured if you cry.
But don’t cry too much. It is not that deep.
People die everyday, and while it is heartless to say this while the person is weeping, tears won’t bring the person back.
I’ll like it if you wear purple and white at my funeral.
And give out chocolates.
And play good music. (No Shatta Wale, I repeat, no Shatta Wale!)
After all, it is a celebration of life.
And that life was full of the colour purple, good music and chocolate😁😁
I don’t want a wake keeping, or a one year celebration or a thanksgiving lunch. They will just be tiresome for my husband and children. You could dedicate a song to me or painting or a building or something like that. I no bore.
I don’t plan to die any time soon. Not at all. Fear not.
I will die old, active and sexy. 😀
Most importantly, when I die, the story won’t end in the grave.