Now I know…

Inside, I stumble,
          my drunken soul, 
                threatens to wither
                                                     Breathless,
                                            my eyes I close,
                                    life’s puzzles I dither

 
On a singing clock,
                  blankly, 
         I plant my naked stare
                                              Its shouting voice
                                        gives my closed ears
                                a sweet scare 

Ooh, how rocky
   is my  Rockies tour
     No rock souvenir to show!
                                          If everything takes time,                    
                                      why mine                                   
                                 forever slow?

On a crying bed, 
          I whisper,
            shouting to my sinking self
                                                  My thoughts, 
                                            tuneless 
                                    as a musician’s forgotten clef

On a calendar, 
     my eyes meander, 
    on a number, they rest
                                               For the ordained,
                                       time is ripe,
                             for harvest, at its best

Sighs and yawns I drink,
                    my soul,
                          feeding on wonder
                                                   Questioning why                    
                                            the waiting is weighty  
                                       and longer

Guessing, 
      in vain, 
          where life burried my hoard
                                                  Blaming dark angels              
                                             whose mercy-ships  
                                     I'm too sick to board

Then on my side,
              I turn, 
                 Imploring my eyes to smile
                                                       My hands,
                                               I willingly stretch,                   
                                       and behold…I find a Holy Book!

At peace I feel, on my chest, I hold...
 my Bible, 
    my Rosary,
          my Quran,
                my Misbaha,
                    my Sutra, 
                        my Mala

                          Now I know, 

                                 I’ve to resurrect,
                             Leave the wilderness grave,
                      Break the chain,
                Be reborn, 
           Be bold!

Copyright © Meshack Sewe