Age is just a number,
Aging is in the mind,
Looking back today, i
can attest to it.
He was the tall, wrinkled,
but stout gentleman(old)
I knew for 6 years, having
been shipped to
boarding school at 10,
Who is to blame, it was the “coolest” thing then.
Zachariah was the kind, whom my pity was extended to,
with the tough, tough
work he had to endure, to make
my colleagues and I healthy and live happily,
To me he was a tough guy.
I fathom how, life
Must have been arduous,
to settle for the laboring task for a living,
I wished I could help,
but kitchen was a no go zone for kids.
Sources say he had been there over 50years on,
yet he was still vibrant,and undying spirit of hope,
Our little chats confirmed that his kids,
were well educated, and in the States,
To me it was a visionary, a dream perhaps come true
for an African laborer.
Nevertheless, his food was finger licking,
Always needing more
He cooked with his heart, golden heart
Read hard my children, he kept encouraging us,
Its the way to better life, he said.
Cooking was a passion
For a man with parcels of land, and rental buildings in his name, yet a cook,
It was certainly a way of graceful aging, away from the norm,
i bet aging passionately,Or a means of sustaining his strong bones
Afloat to any new challenge,
A path he chose, regrets behind.
Zachariah was a star,a twinkling star
A star to me that lit the way through, his stregth
puzzled all of me, i wanted to understand him better,
But i was too young
The only cherished memory, is that of his sweetest food, tantalizing
natural with no additives, never having enough.
Live long our Zachary,
A man of true spirit, Live long my friend