Holiness, they claim he spent his life in:
he wasn’t cruel to anyone;
he lov’d all with equal love -
he refused not the orphans their gifts;
neith’r did he refuse the widows their bread:
he was free like the air we breathe in the temple,
where we sang his praises;
praises, he devour'd all alone from all.
They say:
He wasn’t weak of illness,
nor did anyone poison’d ‘im,
but he left his belov’d gently, gently.
They then say he spent his life well,
to be call’d to an eternal rest.
Rest indeed before the Judgment Throne,
answ’ring queries why he took glories to himself alone,
why he refus’d to help the needy,
without some coins;
why he secretly oppress’d the widows,
flirting with ‘em before giving ‘em gold;
why he turn’d himself a true worshipper –
though a hypocrite.
Million queries, the Throne asks him,
but he stands before Him, silenc’d
like Nigerian refineries.
But it pains him that his belov’d
are proudly praising him their on earth,
while here, he’s about to be doom’d with ajuju,
too much ajuju to sentence him.
In the fiery furnace,
he now beg all living to live justly,
and not to nzowu, nzowu oth’rs.
Eche Ononukwe
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/call-to-eternal-holiness/
