Vestiges Of Baba Buratai’s foreverhood

BY NKECHI ODOMA

Clasping wind, hummed sounds of tree branches,

Parroting the glorious passage to the eternal sea,

Of a living progenitor, Baba Buratai,

In melodies of joy and sorrows.

Humanity of all races,

Whether Africans, Asians, Europeans’ or Americans,

Were all soaked in mourning;

And in disbelief, assailed the King,

His Royal Majesty on the Universal throne in askance.

Why and Why? Why Baba Buratai?

But death had finalized its havoc,

On one of earths greatest war luminary.

Biu village  down to Abuja,

And the world over, shuddered with loud wailings,

Far and near, the young and the old,

Refused to be comforted,

Because, a hero and World War II veteran,

Has passed on, too soon; too sudden and painfully.

His age mates, colleagues, community and nations,

Warmly remembered his gallant war exploits,

In the trenches, jungles and forests,

Of Burma in foreign lands,

When Adolf Hitler brandished the swords,

Of racial supremacy against the rest of humanity.

Baba’s more than a century life on earth,

Lived its full potentials,

Sustaining conquest of mankind’s foes and  follies,

From generation to generations.

They reminisced his kindness and generosity,

The rare passion for humanity,

And  felt a void within, gazing  at the skies inconsolably,

Though painful enough, but reliving because,

Baba has mutated into a greater lion of conquests.

His millions of admirers still affectionately cherish,

The military exploits of his progeny,

The indomitable Gen. Buratai,

Boko Haram’s nemesis and the Peoples General.

Baba’s shadows in liberation of enslaved Nigerians,

Manacled by Boko Haram, much like his portrait,

In the broken walls of imperial racial apartheid;

The faces of millions of Nigerians,

Devastated and traumatized by terrorists,

But freed from the wrenches of religious terrorism,

With relieving and soothing therapies,

Beaming with smiles,

Measured his cup,  full in grace and appreciation.

In their minds, Baba Buratai would  live forever,

Like a priced artistic work,

Earning more eulogies in death every day,

Much like when he lived,

Adieu Baba, in communion with your creator,

As we meet to part no more.