Shereen

My friend Shereen is gone.

She leave with she full-body humour.

And she mind sharp like a scholar though she was a regular student like most everybody.

She was generous with time.

Neighbours useta to knock any hour for medicine and advice.

She never take nonsense from nobody.

She husband, Brother Abdool, he too gone.

Two years ago, around this time o' year, he too.

And before that, they only son, a few years ago.

The little family leave this space.

The son useta teach free Maths lessons, and give time to help.

The mother and father was overflowing with good.

As if they was loaded with wealth.

Brother Abdool was a taxi driver in we poor country.

He useta tell me.

He wife would give away the excess in they home.

Too plenty shoes?

Shirts?

Fooof.

She almost empty they cupboards.

Fill people with food.

She left on Sunday afternoon this week, quiet-sleeping.

"Oh reassured soul,

Return to your Lord,

Well pleased and pleasing to Him."

They kerry she today in a wood coffin lined with white cotton, bury she in a white sheet.

Like rich and poor of she faith.

The sun gather he robes and slip away.

Shereen book close.

Tomorrow, the dawn gon come with ancient promises.

And the kings and the tyrants, the movie stars and the influencers, and the anonymous, gon keep filling they books.