Why won't this damned tears let me be Deep in my soul fleshes my memories of him, Carried in thoughts my pen as chariots interpretes, Sadly in mould of blurs and cracked cast tombstone These are words of my hand, not my heart; not my will, For sadness has wretched my heart, shattered, lost, I am. But, beyond these tears, the splitting heart ache, Of these many questions that won't stop popping; Of this man who each and all knew in pieces I would want pieced together like generic wine Who is Chuzzy, Toks, Chuma, the bits like bites I seeked and found variously his appeal, infecious His reputation on aspects as still, is in comparison; Unlike the many others from shattered field: Those in frontline at times of riot in Sokoto, Those others drinking, partying cocks crow to bed Where as, for the good of being their pals he stays with Yet keeping the mind of youngman of dignified postures, Not doing badly at holding drunken conversations, Yet, wide eyed; all knowi...