MEMORIAL POETRY: "THOSE DAYS WON'T GROW OLD" BY KWABENA

Those bulbous days,

when we frolic late into cherry nights,

hum mother's throats,

sport our wooden guitars,

erect sandy forts,

chase ourselves with plantain AK-47,

hold dolls whose eyes could fall off,

slay grasshoppers using our lumbered swords, and lead playful kingdoms

in our little lord-costumes, 

is the time we will always 

long to grasp back.

Young girls holding their

group-chosen boys,

Young boys with their wooden jeeps,

driving their age-princesses

round the town's plaza-

those years have never grown old.

Time should fly us back

to when folktales was our telenovelas,

blow a fire-triangle.

Time should lend us 

the days our moms 'nd

paps will go after us

before we shower.

Those innocuous days,

everything was loving

and fun-getting,

hopping under starry downpour,

I wished I am forever

Young Kwesi or Young Esi.

Kwabena Churchill-MOMC 

🌱🌱🌱🌱🌱🌱

The speaker remembers the old days of being a child. He remembers being begged to be clean, being happy with a fake paper or plastic gun, so and so. He admits that he is older, yet those days are always young in his memory.