My Birthday by Qomarudeen Saheed Olayemi

When creation is perfect and life given,

The countdown for death begins.

When swearing-in is held,

The unpleasant and historical day to leave office is loose.

A cloth starts to get dirty the very moment it turns clean.

Everything starts to decrease the precious time it completes.

Man shouldn't be hoodwinked by the short-lived opulence of life.

Let no man think me an anchorite.

I wish I  cracked the hardest nut of life.

I wish I stood against the sky from being my limit.

I wish I broke the unbreakable jinx of the world.

I wish I was celebrated.

But the unstable and transient nature of life always pushes me back from loving them.

Sun doesn't shine only on one side.

Nothing in this life is worth loving.

I wonder the thought of an inmate whose hang day is pronounced.

I am interested in the state of an infected one whose days on earth are marked by William Osler.

What kind of joy does a sacrificial lamb have?

Or how do we describe the happiness of a chicken meant for yuletide?

I wonder the celebration of a deer who can never know how to seize the deadly stick from the hunter.

I don't celebrate birthdays!