This piece does not make me a believer of mysticism. It is just a thought I had seeing the strings of events that played thru my life for the past year.

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Here I stand at the corridor
Of my Granny’s fine hut
Staring at the white cloud
Which sits across the horizon
The silver linings give the skies
A touch of painted gold
A grip of the Earths blossom
Posted across to the world
Green, black, and gold

I had seen all this
It lives in my heart
I feel it all
I feel so alive

Another day reminds me
Of the night an aunt
Called me a reincarnated
I wonder how truthful that is
The fact that most friends of mine are elders
And they all find pleasure being in my company
I tell myself, ‘you must be an old man!’
Then they say, if you wash hands
You eat with the elders,
See my arms, full of hairs
But my age is less than that
A growing beard sprawls across my face
A gift from my strong grand father
A hunter, a warrior and a farmer
They say also, what a sitting elder
Sees from his seat, a youngster
Will not see from his tall ladder
Now they say it often
A reincarnate, living soul
The paintings in my mind are numerous
How could I paint them all?
I reveal what I see
I talk to friendly insects
And all life giving trees
Plants, hills and rivers

The grey eyes of mine
Sees the faintest hue
My eyes are not the best
They are just borrowed
Perhaps my fathers, and the
Hairy body from the grannies
I am made up of many people
They had taught me ethics of free men
Understanding that the Hawk must live
The Eagle must also live too
None must forbid the other
From living or doing his own thing
Maybe that is the reincarnation
They so much spoke of
With such grim believe
That I shudder with thought

Oiroegbu Halls

By Oke Iroegbu

Finance Graduate, Bibliophile and Bard of Ovim, his hometown. Read more at

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