The night was young before it turned dark.
Wornout feelings left their mark,
When grey is now my favourite colour.
Familiar tracks now run cold.
Age is a number meant for the bold.
I’ve stored some advice in my memory’s folder,
Wisdom can make you seem a thousand years older.
I am the nest, let the birds fly home.
When legs become sticks,
Visions easily become tricks.
Too old to run after sly foxes,
Those who put their eggs in different boxes.
I’ve built my tent with large canopies.
It’s time sit on my porch and summer,
While I allow my young blood to simmer.
It is not often true
That an ocean can outdo a bayou
The other stands still and stuns
But they both hold water.
This is to all of few
Thinking a foot is a good shoe
So on broken glass it’d trample,
The sting inside the ampul
Will make wobbly the feet.
The kettle heats like a pot
Wisdom settles where it ought
A boy is a man he’s not
Until to tie he can knot.
A line is only an extended dot.
The calender turns
Greys bring wisdom
Yet they restrict mental freedom
Streams run freer when the canal is free of grasses
The leaders of tomorrow have realized it’s dawn
They are mounting blockades round the political town
But it all seem an act provoked by anger
It is imminent to stumble in the dark
It takes focus and purpose to build an ark
We all have the right to make our mistakes
Jettison all the stakes
Checkers and dara are meant for the old
Toiling is for the young fold
This course is not for snails.
Everyday they flee in great numbers!
Always flying from their nest!
They go East, they crave west, seeking rest
I hear the shootings, the thunder and bombs!
I hear it all and my heart breaks!
This heart groans not from fear.
No, not for dread, but for my home
My children, and how they’ll fare
In the lands to which they’ve fled
I’m too old to run!
Knees too weak to turn!
Like mountains, free souls are too rooted!
Like crackling voices, like tears far flung,
they can only dream, only wish for prayers!
So pray, that flowers again may bloom from this heart too cold for warmth!
A bump bulged in my belly
It had me shaking like a jelly
In this world of uncertainty
I can only run from my reality
But too old, too old to run from love!
Today I must be girly
Put on a fabric that is trendy
I would wear pants, readily
Keep away from my femininity
But too old, too old to run at all!
On days when it’s easy to succumb
I feel my feet go numb
My voice ceases to sing songs
I stay put where my foot belongs
Because I’m too old to run and fall!
Seeking succour from life
Lived nurturing ghosts with each day
Wanting flight from strife
His youth had made straight a way
The word Karma
Brings your flight to the knife
A perfect way to end your stay