Fifty Six

​Happy birthday Nengite

You are fifty six?

Stopped counting at forty six

Would have bought you cake

But there’s recession

In the nation

And cake’s not cheap

Would have given you clothes

But mine won’t fit

Because you are grown

Yet still a babe

With a big head 

And feet of clay

You delight in milk

Refused to eat meat

Why do you still crawl 

In your Nike shoes?

Why do you drool

On a throne of gold?

Should I mince words

To be called nice?

No, I must give you words

As hard as bone

You are old Nengite

Very Old

You are a mother

Of many offsprings

Who are dignified

In their drudgery

They die every other day

Yet you breed every single day

You are bountifully blessed

But would rather stoop to beg

Soon you will look around

It will be entirely you

Just you

With your dyed hair

Standing on roots of grey 

Pick yourself up

Dust yourself out

They call us names

For relentlessly

We still hope for change

Let this optimism

Not cause us shame

You are family

Won’t give up on you

Surely, at fifty six

Your growing up

Will still come true

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