Slayed By Himself

Like the seed which received
Rain’s smile; the sun’s shelter

But remained without a shoot; life’s print,

A mockery of the hoe’s labour,

He sulked in his gloom

Praying that his day to bloom

Be made manifest before

The very eyes of goats

That in lush vegetation gloat

Over the pains they caused him,

And his light they dimmed.

He watched bits of eternity filled 

With never ending blessings; showers,

Turn to fractions in which trees’ fans

Become grey without a say;

Streets of Africa painted in a hazy,

Wonderful brown air as he beholds life

Roll into each other.

His mates raising harvests in 100 folds 

Abound; many to nature’s call answers.

He looked through the slit in the mulch

He had been blessed with much

Early in life, to sun’s

Beauty, vigour and wisdom…

To the sun’s kingdoms.

He sat himself up without delay,

His trouble his mind replays.

Nothing that seems to have his goals to slay;

His dreams

Have always had him as the answer