Poems

Spikin’s Letter

When my day is done, dear Lord
I pray it happens in my own room
 
In front of all my loved ones, sisters and brothers,
I beg you, Lord, let it be in my compound
 
When I draw my last breath, my people, I tell you
Gather at my place without delay
 
Whether it’s at noon or at midnight
Just come right over
 
After the farewell prayers, waste no time
Take me to my grave
 
When you get there, set me in the earth
Kindly, remembering my good deeds
 
Don’t make my grave different from the rest
Cover it with dust
 
When all this is over, let everyone
Return to their daily occupations
 
As for third, seventh and fortieth-day prayers
I really don’t care
 
As for those people who weep and wail for show
For God’s sake, don’t do this in my name
 
I’m sorry for the mourners
For the trouble they will take to bury me
 
From bathing me to carrying my casket
And the trouble this will cause them
 
Indeed, if I could do these things myself
I would spare you, brothers and sisters
 
Here I end my letter, signed
Mudi Spikin, father of Amina

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