Lullaby, The Winds

When the humble evening quarreled with the travelling day
It turned out not to be wise, for the aftermath brought grim dismay

The aftermath, a heavy storm came riding on her way
She pulled stuff along, anything that went astray

Tearing, pushing against the curtained doors and windows
Flirting with the wind, so that the candlelights danced without care
First it seemed all will go upside down, like a swirling tornado
But as the storm came the streets got littered like the Lions lair

Windy airs ghost around, bound to the East or is it West?
Daring to tumble, to take on all that lay on her fiery path
The mildness of each burst of air, a reminder that the night is set
And that airs like the ones of the sea brought tidings as sooth

Now sweet breezes and mild whistling from the Pines nearby
Class out a host of unseen voices which sang a melodious lullaby

Amuse: I

The sun set behind me
I see my shadows in front of me
It was just evening fast approaching
I was a traveler known to myself
Running from the world, living in my own

I walk the hard way, to come back for more another day
Though trying to cut of every dismay felt, I must say

No one cares, no one wants to share
Painting the dying world, yet no one says a word

So I hide myself in my confidence, one on Gods providence
Hoping to see the light, never to give up the fight

But I sat in the dark thinking I would become the Batman
When myself will humbly say, ”it is not possible good brother
You can’t make a difference sitting in one quiet spot”

So I stopped running…

Two Musings; Your smile and African nights

1. Your Smile

Your smiles are wonderful, they tickle my soul
It takes me to heights of love, brings me to joy
When you smile, you remind me of the Rose
The parting of your red lips a memory to behold

In your beautiful warm smile I find an embrace
It spoke of speeches untold, reverred and blessed
And tells me more of you that I never have known
But in all, your smiles are exotic, pretty to the eyes

2. African nights

In the morning the mild golden sun rise above the huts and hills
Painting the corn fields yellow and making the streams shimmer
Upon the flowing rivers it glitters, till the dead end below a tree root
Big fishes stay ready to strafe up to pick insects off the tree barks

In the hamlets, dogs chased dogs, children played here and there
Men and boys went towards the great forests beyond the hills
To check hidden traps tucked away or tend to their farms needs
Girls pounded yams, making dishes with bush meat from the hunters

In the evenings, the children and elderly gather to tell night tales
When the moon light shine and the airs are soothingly mild
Everyone who wished to hear the tale of the night sit for it
And when it is told, even before the tales end many went snoring…
Now Africa

Muse: Midnights

Midnights are caricatures of dreams
Like the quick mist upon the morning
Licking the forest tree lines and city skylines
Sometimes it stands like a smoke phantom with a dagger
And mouth wide agape as like a dying strangled cockerel

Sometimes they come airy, with mild words, softer
Maybe with some rain, which makes all even milder
The lullabies play on the roof top, the rain drums

It celebrate the nights quietness, the rain and her wind
And mostly, to the fatigued and snoring worker,
Who in the rains benevolence, a solace find

Soul of Poetry

” Poetry haunts my soul
Poetry flies thru the thickets,
On a hot desert drive
Daring the mamba to come dance
With the cunny hawks hovering the sky”

1.
Masked tribesmen bother the Lions sleep, huuthuut- hututu
Down the thickets of the bushland strange music of the birds play

They sing, they say…

Wai-oo, wai-oo take me home, fly away

2.
Songs of happy children, rendition of a thousand bullfrogs
The choir of Natures solemnity, grace the quiet darkness

Meanwhile the shepherds sleep, the nights waste

Man, flora, fauna and spirits, all try to rest

3.
To lands tucked away in far places, where the cultures differ
Stay ladies who dance with hands on their slim waists

They swirl, they turn, all in fine haste

To make fun, they laugh at the mens restlessness…