I would like to write a short story, too strong for a novella
Not longer than a thousand line, and not shorter than a hundred page;
But my pen wills me a poem, sipping from our tea cup of memories
My pen struggling not to drown for thus, the love is so heavy
What we have is pure, Mother and daughter
What we have is strong, like a well sited Iroko tree

Cheers to the one who ate bones for me to eat meats
Cheers to the one who slept on the floor, for me to feel the warmth of a bed
Cheers to the one who trekked all her life for me to be able to sit in an air conditioned office
I will raise my glass and make a toast to you

The last time we fought; was when I wanted to give up
The last time we cried was when I failed a course
The last time we hugged was when I said goodbye
But the last time I will think about you, talk about you — will be when I breath my last
The last time I checked, I wrote you a song