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Juanita During

By Noel A. Ihebuzor

If my tongue does not move to mourn you

it is not that I am now dumb

sorrow like a furnace has dried up the dew

that freshens this soul, now numb

inside me all is dry, parched

save moist eyes from whence sorrow

tumbles down to an earth drenched

in the blood of a suddenly closed tomorrow


Juanita, if you could hear me

broken now, forlorn me

my wooden tongue stuck to my palate, me

throat dried, cracked and broken, me


If you could decode my silent sobbing,

you would sense my inner voice,

linked with a thousand others, hurting

wailing and railing at failed social services

in a continent that is yet to learn to rise and live

mourning a star departed

on the morning before her arrival


***** I got news yesterday PM of  Juanita’s death. Juanita was/is a colleague, friend, soul mate, poet and one with whom I shared several intellectual coffees and visions for inclusive global development. Now, she is gone..and what pains most is that this death could have been avoided! Sleep well, Junaita…Juanitissima as I would tease you!