Pencils and pens have always
Been my inheritance,
The joy that I shared
With my uncle and mom
When they had a chance.

Ink erased my grimace
And paper hugged me
And still kissed my teary face.
My mind was tuned for the pen
Stationery is the clan
I immensely invaded.
Platinum said,
“Kid, stick to the pen and pencil.
Colour your world
So beautiful, shade it nicely,
That way,
Not only you
But neighbors too
Will enjoy the tree you are.
To them you will always seem near,
But still far
Is a blessing.”

He told me that with
Eleven holes of bullets
In his tall and broad body,
And his smile gave nothing away
When it comes to the pain he was feeling.
He escaped police custodies
Easily like classwork,
And he became my homework,
The work I did indoors;
Listening to him giving up his heart
And soul on my tiny little shoulders.
Tears, tears started dripping down
My dirty face,
And looked beyond the roof into the far space.
I knew that it was a goodbye.
So when he left his body,
He gave me the pen
And I in exchange gave him
My Adidas predator shoes,
For a last walk.

I held onto that pen
Like I did when I was 10 years old.
My passion and love is the wish he told.
“Make your own things
Before your hands get dirty like mine,
Gold is taken from ore and rocks,
Be different, take it out from you
Like a page out of a book.”
So dear Platinum,
I’m rewriting the image of the family
Fanaku Mona gave to you,
I’m no superhero,
But just a man too.
I’m carrying your surname on my neck
Like a gold medal,
And I’m proud of the lessons you gave
Without a chalk or paper.
You died young
But damn you lived long.