By World Barnabas
Trail is missing, doubt is heightened
Perforated thought intertwining cobwebs of hope
Sightless sight enveloped coloured shade of radiant rainbow
Fields are green, but fruits marry thorns in juvenile jungle
Voice would be enough to call the sparrow remains a cloud.
Blunt edges of the cross are sharpened on a crying cliff
Tears drenched the clamour of weightless purchasing power
We want to be the friend of light, but it’s an abyss in embryo
We belched in monumental comfort regardless of looming waterloo
Our groundnuts are harvested on a tree and oranges from the ground.
Let the passing shadows cleanse the surface of the rising moon
And let sojourners in the dungeon lean on freedom of sword
We can match across the bridge of morrow with dauntless empathy
Let the west wind resurrect soiled flag of great voiceless strength
And let night closed its windows for morning to open the blazing door.
Our racing horses are at the Aijalon valley dancing to echoes of waves
Our black shield is being entangled by arrows from unimaginable angles
Our eagle of broken wings walked along the trail of featherless chicks
Our Costusspectabilis withered among the threatening of many weeds
Our shining white wavy pall metamorphosed to battle fields of gory scenes.
Tongue attacked tongues for tongue to crown the possible tongues
Personified fire damaged the map of consensus on influential estates
Appurtenances of larger firmament torn the map with excuses of discretion
Eyes of the owl failed to capture the irregularities in gorgeous dress
When will this farm ripe enough to go to market with mates in equivalent heptagon?
Lunar eclipse struggles with the earth’s shadow and moon goes beyond horizon
Let the legion of pretty shooting stars unanimously rent the veil of darkness
The dirty gold in the tomb of night passes through the refreshing furnace
And illumination will open the book of remembrance to the forgotten souls
There would be resurrection of the dead glory and execution of forlorn hopes.