The sun has lost the lustrous light,
The moon forgot to take its beam,
All stars feel languorous at night
And eyes were lost in search of dream.
We cried to the king of the pack
And met him hiding in the den,
Our dreamland road has lost its track,
We are now stucked this time than then.
We ran to peace to have a way,
But peace itself do look for peace.
All hearts and mouths cried with dismay;
The salt on tongues is sour of peace.
Crimson clothes wished to get a soap,
But it was drenched in pools of Red.
What next? We felt so bleak to cope
With this mire of dreads as bed.
A voice then descended on us
With a pure rope, named as prayer.
“Oh man! Have this; you are a wuss,
Declare your pains and each despair.”
“The doleful rain has doused our land,
We live in fear and gloom and thirst.”
The rope is here, where is each hand??
To find the lost, hold the rope first!!
“The gloomy sky will make mild arts,
All those sorrows will leave the land,
Tie the pure rope to your lost hearts!!
And you will reach the promise land.”
© Arikewusola Abdul Awal