TIRED AWAITING LIFE REPOSE!
I have meandered through the course of my origins,
Through the beds and beds of sprawling growths on the bank,
Through the valley of swarming specieS fraught with bedlam,
Long from the chamber of the womb, now closer to the tomb;
Where everything had rest, rest from hope and ambition,
But to hear the quiet voice of my spirit - GO ON!
The earth has sailed by the axis behind the burning star;
A constellation crowns the vale, still with relief.
Pitch darkness enshrouds and looms over the topaz ray
Of the silent moon still on the wane to a dying day.
A shrill vocal note echoes from secret nooks and straws
And mingled with the atonal chorus from dark ponds,
All segued into sombre lullaby mating with cool air;
With the whiff of dewy substance gently casting a gloomy spell
Over the land, at last, to lure man and matter to a weary sleep.
But my spirit cannot rest; it must chew the bitter herbs
Down its fibrous stem and drink of life to the lees.
Where abide the balm of rest for a tainted night by a whiff
Of fraught quiescence to yet trouble the tranquil ambience?
Alas, night and day is one, the day to weary the flesh
And the night the spirit; and each fall of the gloaming
An account to give, and to flounder and roam
In reminiscences, to ponder over ladened tasks
And to soar with aspirations until the glint of dawn.
When enfeebled by herculean duty by daylight, comes twilight
Wherein lies dreamy solace from the lull engendered by
An easeful sleep, but to heave the spirit wandering anon
In awful planes of nocturnal life where men
Moils up with incubuses, lost in the labyrinth of life.
The home of contentment is neither in leisure nor busy hearts;
Neither in merry castle nor rueful kraal, its abode laid,
But to drown body and soul worn brim of the flow of life
As the tide exceeds its bound to spew or retake matters.
Alas, profit and loss are one as to prepare yam seedling and
Mound cares and worries tenfold upon a gritty heart as
Its tender tendril serpentining through wild growths for support;
A discordant rhythm out the moderation of a mellow life.
Time was when it was so; time is what it is and will always be.
Rain, sunshine and harmattan are the confluence of
Climatic monotony wherein lies relief as well as a sigh.
The sky is the hue of grey and the earth ash,
And the array of the universe, will they ever halt to rest
From travelling? Therefore, you seasons and climates
Never growing old or wan or taint your aura, but sadly,
TO WEARY MAN. Thus is my life ebbing as the Arabian falls,
Never stopping to surf like Northern clouds;
Always moaning like western thunderbolt and
Frequently weeping like southern rainfalls, to belie solace!
Alas, good has no home where to lay her gentle head
On soothing quilted bed; neither can evil make of herself
Within or outside, a tranquil and lasting haven built of a gem.
But both are merchandise of profit and loss that belie balm.
From dreamland to waking field much agog
For the newness of life,
Ever alert to sights, noises, smells, feelings, tastes
And instincts; ever ready to exert strength, wit and will;
Encompassing and compounding simplicity
To complexities like breaking surf on the borderline
Of Bar beach to produce millions of sprays ungathered.
From easeful rusticity to vie, build and climb through
The splendour of life to the hilt of babel of confusion.
From the mirrors of old age to the memories of aspiring youth,
Nothing remains but smut of yesterdreams all strewn
The vast desert we tread and
wafted about by the winds.
All through life have I worked, worked through storms,
Filled the barns and silos from draughty furrowed planes
Under the fierce star and through icy clouds. All through
Whirling winds have I journeyed afar to gather mints,
Amass fortune within the shadowy recess of the earth,
From glinting stuff and atop the climbing waves of
The sea to faraway eccentric lands. Through earthquakes
Have I mounted grand colossal mansions and havens
Bedecked with washed stones and baked clays.
And through the heat of socialization have i
Waxed my personality with fame and title wax from
All fields of endeavours. But yet, still, to find content
In an unceasing hunger and thirst
For life’s seeming abundance; and drink and eat unend,
But never the last drop or bit to take.
How is it, oh sad man, to bask in a world of wonder
Without repose!
But oh, alas to hear the hum of the pine leaves
Phrase a dreamy melodious tune – lento, they sing:
On this soil, squatters and
tenants we are, waiting
To be evacuated – As, lento, the
requiem, they fall
Leaving their stalks (their hold of life) with the chorus:
Hope and ambition extend not
beyond six feet –
As, lento, they rest at last on the crystal clear beds
Of, lento, a stream meandering to its depth of repose!
Fade then my soul; fade out of this restless vale
To that new eastern fairyland of verdant nourishing field
And brilliant refreshing stream running its course into a square.
Or if the verity of Lethe subsist at that Grecian plane,
To drink brimful and think no more of life for repose!!!
