The Message

By -
Far or not; Heaven
Tonight I’m having a closer look at you
Broken or not; my life
I’ve laid its carriage down somewhere
Just somewhere where
You know there’s a God still
Who made and laid stars in his heaven

Drowned by this starlight
Wearied I laid me down
On grasses browned by the heat of the day
Where I can see God-made stars—
They’re saying something again!
What they told the wise men.

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

WHY THE SUN SMILES

By -
Image
Every morning, just before the sun breaks      the dawn into day with her golden fingers She smiles, she smiles, but no one knows why It's all beautiful, the sun, her smiles, the morning brightness And the glitter of flowers that captivates our wits all afternoon And then, in the evening, the sun sets and In the fading glory of her once golden fingers She takes with her into the high heavens Another day of our existence and A little tiny part of us that can never be reclaimed Returning us to the universe in bits and Drawing us all closer to our sure end. The sun's job done, she returns in the morning To once again smile that smile.
Read more

Death by Hope

By -
Don't get carried away with her beauty, life is awesomely crafted to weary us all out. ~Diipo How we die slow, by slowly but surely hoping  That that which we hope for shall surely come to be While we truly are only living and dieing slowly And as the days go by; we hope on one hand And on the other, life is busy secretly but surely Wearying our bodies towards a sure death.
Read more

The Bent Backs of our Fathers

By -
Image
Proud warriors in ancestral savannahs...is this your back that is bent.  ~David Diop Sweat shed on ancestral savannahs Blood from our grandfathers' labours The bent backs of our fathers The pains of the proud warriors And the songs of our grandmothers Have all gone to ciphers We are history’s refrain, a  tragic chorus of cycles This is not a disease, yet Our backs are bent like those before us This time from the toils we choose Our ancestral warriors in awe Watch us writhe in new pains Only this time not on the plains But in the cold gloomy northern winters Where we forget the songs  of our grandmothers  Who will save us now that we have gone too far Beyond the reach of our mother's voice and The long warm fingers of the sun.
Read more