(In rememberance of my maternal grandfather, ‘ gogo D Majo)

On his sick bed he sleeps
Waiting for the creator to decide
Whether he pulses on, or rests

When we visited him
He weakly opened his eyes
Had trouble recognising his grandsons
Only to greet us in a low weak voice

Home we went
Later in the afternoon we heard
Dirges, in an atmosphere of silence
Only to realise it was a farewell