Where is thy sting? Where is thy scourge? Our hearts lie bleeding and painful, our happiness sucked out of our souls. Where now is your victory? You have wrenched what was ours right oout of us, who now will celebrate you?
At times like this, I prefer music, let the clashing sounds of pain and anger, the sound of discord and tears, let them speak for me. What are the words that one says? What lines??? What entreaties does one subscribe to? What does one say to Death? What does one say to an aching soul?
Where now is thy sting? Where is thy victory? For those who felt the bite of your scythe lie in the dust now oblivious to all pain, and all too knowledgeable of your shame. While those left behind, are sad for a while, but grow and smile and rejoice in the time which shall heal. So where now is your victory?
What words do we plead with? How do we make amends? There are no solutions in this; only grief, and pain, and anger, and questions. Why? Why now? Why us? Why at all? Why death? Why must we die? Those we love are torn from our grasp and in one swing of your blade, you render happy families into groups of mourning relatives. Why Death? What sickly duty is this? Where is the justice in this?
What perverted justice rules over this world that may allow Death? In what frame may we justify the ending of a life? Only questions. No answers are available. Like a callous judge you sit on your high chair and ignore the entreaties of the ones in sorrow. So we have, only questions and an empty chair where our loved one once sat. Only questions, and an emptiness, a hollow no one else may fill, a gap left by one so dear and stolen.
Is this your victory? Is this your sting? That you may leave us in pain and in sorrow, all alone with no thoughts as to why, and a dread as to ‘morrow.
Dedicated to Mrs Ogunbawo; loving wife, mother, teacher.
P.S: we are strong, and we believe! That is all matters…in the end, we shall grow from the ashes, rise as the phoenix and what once was dead, would be red again as the rose!