Watering a seedling.
Photography by Karolina Grabowska

They come in their normal way.
Chatting and making jokes for you
an avenue to please you of the stories that molded your
grandfather into having your father and then you.

They tell you of science and biology
that surrounds your mother into having you.
And your organs – you need not be told of their functions again.
Mother warned you against them.

You chant, "they are great teachers."
"We learn everyday," isn't that all we say when we are ignorant of the things we ought to have known.
They teach you about the flying planes,
The walking boat and of course their language
and how it glows at the corner of their mouth.

Now you wear their light – a garment of wisdom.
They share and share but in your own garment
they can't see through who walked through the passage of integrity.
They can't see who walked through the passage of love.

I'm a writer from Nigeria who sucks at writing her bio. I have been published on Writenow.Lit magazine. I'm the Author of "In Light, Fears and Love." My works are forthcoming in the Critical Muslim magazine. I believe in the words which mold me.

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