EPHEMERAL

Man only has but two nights: the night he was born, and the night he died.
When he was born,
Joy and mirth pervaded the room,
And cacophony of laughter erupted like fireworks in the night.
Like a tiny vine, he clung to his mother, drawing sustenance from her precious sap,
Like a fledgling bird clinging to its mother’s wings.
With his squeals and gurgles, he shared his babble
Like a child blooming in its mother’s love.
Half a dozen of age; everyday objects of the home became a kingdom of marvels, a realm of
infinite delights, as his imagination turned pots into castles and spoons into swords.
In the hot kitchen, his mind scented the air with the sweet fragrance of his hunger but he cared
not for the heat or the sweat; only for the succulent flavors to come.
Every morning, a new day beckons, a playground of delight, in the eyes of a child
Running across the beach, gathering up the grains of sand– like precious pearls–
As the moon casts its light upon the sea.
The day he died,
Deluge of sorrow choked the room, & the air was dense with wails.
So many, like clouds of houseflies.
The mighty man,
heavy with weight of accomplishments,
Threatened to hump the bier that transported him into his abode of delight.
When he was lowered into the Earth
(beneath the world of men),
A new home hewn in the belly of the earth,
His bones rotted like detritus.
What is death? A beautiful ending or loss?
There is but one conclusion:
That he was born to die, to live as he pleases and return to the dust that made him.

Chukwuemeka Victoria Chiamaka is a psychology graduate from the University of Chukwuemeka Odumegwu Ojukwu, Anambra State, Nigeria. She is passionate about writing and this has made her lay her tent in the world of modern literature.
Email: chukwuemekavictoria23@gmail.com