The one who sings
Dike , we are here and you are there. Your face is still, and the ringing laughter I have known for the past 30 years is still ; with it.
We have come and they stare, as they bind you to the earth's bossom and I leap to join you, but I am restrained. And I am struggling, I am weeping ;it's not fair. It is not fair that I should live to see you leave. No! Not after you suckled my breast, ate my bread and troubled my life all this time. I am refusing to let you go, but why are you so silent? Have I offended you so much that you say nothing?
Ever since you left, I have been waiting for you to return. But no, not like this. You cannot return and stay quiet, No! I have waited for far too long, I waited until my sight failed me, and went in search of you.
Who knew that you could be so quiet. For as long as I have known you, you were not one for silence. And it hurts me that you may have changed, that the wearies of travel and the learning of paths may have finally caught up to you.
I remember as a child how you held on to everything, never willing to let go. How stubborn you were and how to live. Dike, are you not willing again? I know I disagreed with your sojourn and that we fought over it before you left. But Dike, it is the calling of all parents to disagree with their offsprings when something about their, plans does not sit right in the belly .
I am sorry, I never meant to hurt you. I never meant it when I said you should never come back, all I wanted to accomplish was to make you stay. I am sorry because now I know that you left hoping to find fortune and make me proud. But Dike, you were already my pride. Maybe if you had stayed you wouldn't be this silent now, maybe you wouldn't put my heart in so many confused places and my eyes will not bleed memories.
When I woke up yesterday I could hear the one who sings, like on the day your father died. I struggled to my feet and felt Mama Nkechi and other women at my door. And before they said it I knew, I knew that your silence had become permanent.
Now, the sun is beating me ceaselessly as I kneel in this place, this place I have been told you now lie; silent. And I know, deep in my heart, that if I wait long enough I will at last be reunited with you and hear for the last time, the one who sings.