O laa la n'udo
O laa la O laa la
O laa la n'udo
Nnem nwanyi a laa la
O laa la n'udo
Ada Igbo, Igiriri Ututu, Ezigbo Nnem, Osodi ama mba.
Your great vessel; the body that I was formed inside,
that warmed me, nourished me, and comforted me
the body I hugged a million times, that beautiful body
that housed you for eighty-two years, earth,
the insatiable swallower of flesh and dust of her own soil,
ate on August 13th, 2010 and wiped her mouth.
Wiped her mouth like it was just another meal,
but it has not eaten you. It cannot eat you. It never can.
You know, I thank God because you lived every hour
as if there is heaven and up there you'd have your mansion,
even when your body was put through a Boston nightmare
for more than two years, like Job, you never blasphemed.
I wonder now, somewhat uncomfortably, if up there
another gathering of the children of God had occured
and God had walked over to that bugger and asked again
'...and have you considered my servant, Hannah?'...
Let me not think about this.
The best part of this story is that I can go to bed tonight and sleep
for if heaven indeed does exist, you are already there, no doubt.
But if heaven is just the most beautiful place, the most beautiful place
where neither pain nor rancour lives, where neither sickness nor death lives,
where the most beautiful songs are sung by the sweetest voices
of the most beautiful unstained egos in the most glorious robes,
and it is only a place to rest from your recent earthly sojourn,
have tea with Jesus the Christ and the Elders and The Great Ones
before you return to have another go down here, enjoy the wonders
in the Great Abode of your host, the creator of all, and His celestial bands...
and when you return, if as part of The Great Plan, you still need to,
oh what a privilege it will be, to be your son again, be your song again.
- Nnorom
London 18th August, 2010
