Ajayi…

Buried within the woods he made
His dumb body suffocates with rot
His feet squeezed to fit into his works
His body mass too swollen for acceptance

Ajayi, the coffin maker was a good man
To good for death to have spat on
He never wished for the bad of his people
Even though he needed them to survive
Even on their sick beds, he prayed for them
He was death’s alibi and was ignorant to this fact
He made the coffins with strength and zeal
Yet he barely gained from it to survive
He made twenty coffins a year and sold only two

He forgot he needed them for his survival
His wrinkled hands could use the nail no more
He loaned out his gifted hands in remorse
And was stricken by the angel when the time came
Before his death, he sold twenty coffins
He was skilled because it was a tradition of his fathers
The first son was to take over from his predecessor
Ajayi was the only child of his father and was left no choice

Just like his fathers,one coffin was always left behind
For the death keeper must walk in death
And buried within the works of his hands
He was aware and kept the best for himself
Alas! When his soul journeyed yonder
The coffin had suffered the beat of nature
And was no fit for a man like Ajayi
He broke the curse, for he wasn’t buried in his work
But in the work of his wife, for she was a seamstress
And made for him a bedding of death
Taking the curse on her head and to her daughters
Letting the sons have a coffin free life

Ajayi the coffin maker, was a good man
And so was his wife now, the maker of death’s bed
A family to serve till death…

By Ruth Brodrick. All rights reserved ©. This poem should not be shared or used without the author’s permission.

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Author: I- read

This is a free blog aimed at watering poetic minds and quenching the thirst of readers. My passion for words commemorates the desires to speak the truth, interplay with emotions and voice the fights in troubled souls. Welcome to i-read..

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