Pancreatic Cancer took him, but unlike others in similar fight whose hair fell, Kip kept a full set of hair and beard. Sheen black with tufts of gray. Strong, steady and stubborn!
He was tethered to time, yet defiant of clocks,
Every second a sermon, every breath a paradox.
Body collapsing, but his crown stood prepared,
Mortality knocking,yet stubborn stayed the hair.
See,
The sickness gnawed marrow, tried hollowing bone,
But follicles preached sermons in a baritone tone.
Black sheen with a shimmer, grey streaks like prayer,
Proof that permanence exists in what refuses despair.
And his name,Leon,drawn straight from the Leo,
A lion whose mane tells the world how to see him so.
Even as the body grew weary, betrayed,
The crown roared rebellion, a mane unafraid.
He said,
“I will not fold ‘til my seed meets my stare,
My essence embedded, my legacy there.”
And once baby Lelo arrived, the tempo reversed,
Life sprinted toward exit, rehearsing the hearse.
But the beard grew bolder, the temple held firm,
As if wisdom itself had decided to germ.
Tufts of philosophy sprouted from skin,
Saying, “The body decays, but the spirit won’t dim.”
Tell me, what’s hair but rebellion in strands?
Proof that even dying men still command?
That even as flesh makes a treaty with dust,
The roots whisper...fight, the follicles...trust.
So honor the lion, mane fierce in the storm,
Stubborn hair roaring when the body looked worn.
A testament inked not in blood but in strands,
That grit is eternal, and love makes it stand.
Poetry by in'kwa
Read 61 times
Written on 2025-08-21 at 16:15
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Stubborn Hair
He was tethered to time, yet defiant of clocks,
Every second a sermon, every breath a paradox.
Body collapsing, but his crown stood prepared,
Mortality knocking,yet stubborn stayed the hair.
See,
The sickness gnawed marrow, tried hollowing bone,
But follicles preached sermons in a baritone tone.
Black sheen with a shimmer, grey streaks like prayer,
Proof that permanence exists in what refuses despair.
And his name,Leon,drawn straight from the Leo,
A lion whose mane tells the world how to see him so.
Even as the body grew weary, betrayed,
The crown roared rebellion, a mane unafraid.
He said,
“I will not fold ‘til my seed meets my stare,
My essence embedded, my legacy there.”
And once baby Lelo arrived, the tempo reversed,
Life sprinted toward exit, rehearsing the hearse.
But the beard grew bolder, the temple held firm,
As if wisdom itself had decided to germ.
Tufts of philosophy sprouted from skin,
Saying, “The body decays, but the spirit won’t dim.”
Tell me, what’s hair but rebellion in strands?
Proof that even dying men still command?
That even as flesh makes a treaty with dust,
The roots whisper...fight, the follicles...trust.
So honor the lion, mane fierce in the storm,
Stubborn hair roaring when the body looked worn.
A testament inked not in blood but in strands,
That grit is eternal, and love makes it stand.
Poetry by in'kwa
Read 61 times
Written on 2025-08-21 at 16:15
Save as a bookmark (requires login) Write a comment (requires login) Send as email (requires login) Print text
