a memory of me

theres no need to carry my bones,

and little use, my ashes along with you
no need to slave and die a pyramid to build for me

when I stretch my hand, as I travel

as I sail over the winds, swim the waters and soar in the skies
let my children their tiny little hands stretch to meet with mine.

clasped with mine even when I am no longer here

let them sail and soar
and ride the waves and winds better than I ever did
seeing that their lives are built from blocks of the memory of me
the memory of the spirit of strength and character and of hope.

no, build for me not a pyramid.

rather, leave for me in my children’s life a memory of me
and I will be as alive when dead as when I was alive.

Femi kolapo