## The answer is 42

The answer is 42

But I don’t know what the question is

I have asked the the ones flirting with insanity

And the ones far from the border line crazy

I have asked the young and the old

And the one’s whose stories aren’t told

The answer is 42

But I have no idea what the question is…

I have searched the new york times

And the readers digest

I have asked politicians

And men and women of religion

I have asked clergymen and searched the prayer books

I have looked through the CIA files and the KGB files

I have asked the powerful and the powerless

But still I search…

The answer is 42

But I don’t know what the question is

I have a million keys

But can’t find doors

Leaders have hearts

But cant find love

I have so much stories

But no one to tell it to

I know what the answer is

But even my deep thought fails me

In finding the question.

The answer is 42

And I still don’t know what the question is

But I am aware it resides in the morning dew

And in the rays of the scorching sun

And in the silence of cold nights

And in the thoughts of my neighbours

And of my friends

And of my wife

And of my family

And in Nigeria

And in Gaza

And in Paris

And in Garissa

And in the xenophobic south

And in the racist north

And in the war torn west

And in the corrupt center

And in piracy infested east

And in the heart of the brick catcher

Who was ordered to throw the answer back at life

In the hope of it asking a question instead.

The answer is 42

But I don’t know what the question is

And except this poem is written in base 13

Then could my question be “what is 6 into 9?”

I mean 6 times, I was stabbed in the back

But 9 times I survived

I mean 6 times i called onto Allah

But 9 times he responded

I mean 6 times I was born

But I’m in my 9th life

I mean 6 times I failed

But 9 times she loved me more

I mean 6 times i died

But 9 times he gave me life…

The answer is 42

But I don’t know what the question is

And except this poem is written with tears

Then could the question be “Why our mothers die while giving life?”

Or why our girls are harvested before being ripe?

The answer is 42

But I don’t know what the question is

If this poem was written with half of my brain

Maybe the question is “What happened to all the empty spaces?”

The answer is 42

And I don’t know what the question is

Except this poem is written in the AUC?

Then the question is what is A and what is U and what is C?

Or Why are there 54 versions of normal

When all we seek is just one?

The answer is 42

But I still don’t know what the question is

And except this poem was written in a refugee camp?

Maybe the question could be “Why am I refugee?”

And why do I need to seek refuge?

The questions are infinite

The answers are not

The answer may be 42

But the questions that will lead me to the answer

I am yet to find

This poem will not end

Until I feed

At the restaurant

In the end of the universe.

it’s the age I wish I was again

🙂 I wish to be half of that…. 🙂