For Mrs Ogunnoiki, July 26.
Do I over-express?
Well, how do we celebrate a golden woman on her golden birthday? Do we teach stars to dance for someone they imitate? Do we instruct the clouds to resist the sun for something brighter – to weave this woman’s name onto the skies in capital letters for the entire world to behold? Or, do we, instead, raise our palms to heaven, requesting for gems like her? Do we break the skies open, interview God on her creation and place our ears on His lips to hear the sweet words he would say: This is my daughter in whom I am well pleased. A mirror of my beauty. One I have never created before. And never will.
How do we celebrate a golden woman on a golden birthday? Do we praise her back for bearing the sharpest of thorns until they turned softer than cotton? Do we commend her palms for a bloodline of greatness, for molding the shape of her children’s futures with an infinite supply of love and tears and sweat? Do we praise her coconut-white teeth or cheekbones for tearing walls with warm smiles? Or do we praise the space of two fingers holding a thousand things within without slipping?
How do we celebrate birthdays that end in zeros? How do we celebrate the fifth of such?
Do I over-express? Maybe I do, but it is only for golden women like you, people who stars imitate. May we pop the wine of more years ending in zeros until home decides that the zeros are enough, that you come to a world sweeter than my words.