The calm child quietly sits
In the November night,
At the staircase's feet,
Staring in the streets as rolling tyres on the dusty road sing
And dead sands glide in midair
Looking like bolting smoke around the street light's head.
The yellow moon dozed off and shut its eye,
Slipping into the black robe masking the sky.
What if it dies in its sleep?
This state are we to keep?
Tomorrow!
It would leave with its knife that cuts through your sleep
And the yellow moon's white robe it borrowed.
The calm child quietly sits
In the November night
With a ballpoint and a clean sheet,
The apothecary's child and a cool drink.
What if the syringe fails and December bails?
In the November night,
At the staircase's feet,
Staring in the streets as rolling tyres on the dusty road sing
And dead sands glide in midair
Looking like bolting smoke around the street light's head.
The yellow moon dozed off and shut its eye,
Slipping into the black robe masking the sky.
What if it dies in its sleep?
This state are we to keep?
Tomorrow!
It would leave with its knife that cuts through your sleep
And the yellow moon's white robe it borrowed.
The calm child quietly sits
In the November night
With a ballpoint and a clean sheet,
The apothecary's child and a cool drink.
What if the syringe fails and December bails?
Written by Nana Kweku-Sekyi Supamahn
Add him on Facebook: Supamahn
#WishWorld
No comments:
Post a Comment