We are books: These were the last words of my grandfather;
Words that he wrote in the pages of time before his voyages into many things.
And in this poem, my grandfather is the ink that painted in-between its space;
Those lasting inscriptions “that we are books.”
If the world now reads from me, they read my grandfather,
He who on a Monday morning went to my school,
And reported to my teachers and my best friend;
My promise of not attending classes again.
If the world reads me, they read the pages,
The thousands of pages that my grandfather saw within me
Pages that I was too blind to see; because it is said:
What the aged sit to see, if you aid a child to the peaks of Everest, he sees nothing.
My teachers tricked me through my trusted friend: Promise.
At the playground of the village,
my grandfather, my friend and my teacher wrote within me the last words of this poem;
We are books and we should be written in the ink of love for education.
We are books, write your pages with love and come alive with each page.
About the Author:
John Chinaka Onyeche “Rememberajc” (he/his) is an author of three poetry collections “Echoes Across The Atlantic”, a husband, father and poet from Nigeria. He writes from the city of Port Harcourt Rivers State, Nigeria. He is currently a student of History and Diplomatic Studies at Ignatius Ajuru University Of Education Port Harcourt Rivers State.
John Chinaka can be reached through the following means: