SHADOWS IN SUNLIGHT

A stranger, a shadowy figure,
No warmth at all.
Preaching to appreciate
The value of valuable,
Shunning them all.

Dwelling in the past,
Fearing for the future.
Existing not living.
Each word, each promise,
Invisible to the world.

Secrets are safe,
The person not quite.
The self to himself not known.
Doing some, believing another,
The voice is gone.

Careful of your friends,
Trust not this stranger.
Uncaring and cold.
Standing apart from himself,
Wrecked and catching.

Having it all,
Having none.
Begging, pleading. searching.
Finding the bridge,
Daring to cross.

The seasons are changing,
Spring has come.
No one to water.
No one to tend.
Darkness in light, a stranger reborn.


This is a poem written by one of my friends. I think it's lovely. Please do give your comments. :)

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

KENYA'S COPS.

Today morning, at about 8.00 am, when everyone was on their way to work, I was on my way to scout for a job; another day of tracking through projects online, and writing proposals for the ones I felt I felt I was right for. It happened such that I was brooding about the changes that seem to have taken place in this country in the last three months, when I was stopped by a lady officer, who had somehow noticed that the left corner lamp of my car was missing. ' Hili Gari halina taa. Taa likowapi? ' She asked in Swahili. This translates into, 'This car has no light. Where's the light?' When you're stopped by a police officer in any part of Kenya, you should know that you're probably going to end up leaving the scene with a lighter pocket, or wallet, as the case may be. ' Taa imeibiwa, mama. Ilichukuliwa huku posta. ' I said. 'The light has been stolen, Mam, it was taken at the post office.' There was some kind of irony in that, I thought. To hav...
Read more

WHO DUN IT?

A few weeks ago, as my mum was cooking in the kitchen, she put the potatoes on one side of the counter,next to the window as she went off towards the fridge, gathering the other ingredients for a potato curry. When she came back, two were gone. Who took them? The next thing that disappeared was a little brush for a litle girl, taken from the first floor room of my little niece. With a silver handle, and a lovely little mirror on one side, it's loss was a mystery. Who took it? In the rack outside the kitchen, where abound onions and potatoes, and bananas just off the market, things started running off by themselves. Or did someone take them? Then, as my grand-aunt sat in the living room performing her prayers, there appeared an answer. She's hard of hearing, my grand-aunt, in a slightly comical way. Sometimes, she hears fine, and goes, 'Don't shout in my ears!' Other times, no matter how much one tries to tell her something, she doesn't quite get it, but...
Read more