THE FINAL WHISTLE; A TRIBUTE TO RASHIDI YEKINI
The Iroko has fallen, but not without a trace,
Let other trees in salute their branches raise,
As the forest birds loudly sing his praise,
Telling the tale of his rise from grass to grace,
And of how well he ran the race,
Till God welcomed him with a warm embrace.
Devoted his life to the round-leather game,
For sheer fun he put goalkeepers to shame,
To get to the very top was his ultimate aim,
With grit and determination he made his name,
Leaving behind the slum from which he came,
Onto the world stage to spread his fame.
The whistle has sounded,
His life unbounded,
The game has ended,
His recorded untainted,
The scores are counted,
His fans astounded.
He was born before his time,
His nation in gratitued he owed not a dime,
Not celebrated because he committed no crime,
Forgotten by the land he so served in his prime,
Till his body was given up to earths slime,
To your fiery shots do I dedicate this rhyme.
Close his eyes and lay him to rest,
Bid him farewell, he’s gone from earth’s nest,
Herald the angels to receive heaven’s guest,
For his nation and people he did his best,
Let the land mourn, form East to West,
The legendary lion has ended his quest.
Ogunyemi Olaitan Bukola