When Sons Become Elders

When Sons Become Elders

When my father’s body

Is about to embrace the sand,

The elders will ask for the money

In my hand.

When my father’s eyes

Could still blink like the wings

Of a butterfly,

He would say: “feed me, feed me…”

But when he joined his fathers

With muted lips under the earth,

The culture made decisions for me;

And I fed his grave with cattle.

And the elders would say:

“Son, you’ve kept your father alive”.

But death left me with debt.

Now I am old Glued to the chair like a baby.

A fitting crown is my grey hair.

While my son works under

The rising sun,

My fading pupils set on empty plates.

As death smells in my breath,

With the last I wish I could say:

“Son, let me die with my fathers’ heritage,

But let the cattle live to feed their calves”.

By Elijah Christopher

Elijah Christopher
Elijah Christopher is a journalist at A New Touch Of Africa, is also a creative writer, a poet, and an IT enthusiast. He contributed to the collaborative poem written in celebration of Edwin Morgan Centenary, the first Glasgow poet laureate and Scottish national poet from the University of Glasgow. He loves meeting people and learning about new places, cultures, events, and lifestyles.
Scroll to Top
X