Skip to main content

A Thousand Setting Suns

by: Etornam Kassah

The tall tree that refused to dance was made to do so by the wind
The sapling that just rose had to move to its whim
Time came, and time went, and both were marked without and within
The sapling was bent in the direction of the wind
The tall tree on the humic soil did wind

A thousand setting suns on my life did shine
A thousand rising suns in my heart did rise
Each sun had a tale to tell, in my quest to make life mine
My early suns were warm and sublime
My noon suns shone hot and fierce; for my early suns I did pine

A hundred suns did come and go, each left an annulus on the heartwood of my soul
Like a cathedral bell they hit my soul with their toll
Five hundred suns on my soul did smile
Five hundred sunsets on my soul did shimmer
Leaving me with memories of their glimmer

A thousand suns shone through the dim of my youth
As to find myself i did seek to prove
Clouds came to shade from the suns
Dark, bulbous clouds of fury
Venting their icy drops on a vulnerable me
Bruising my delicate leaves with their torrent
Yet nourishing my roots to make me resilient and grow to become a formidable tree

In the forest of my inner pith a thousand suns have come and gone
My bark has hardened and lignified to shield me; yet my pith is malleable
Each cloudy day makes me fold my leaves........Into my inner self they coil
I am the sunflower and her sisters.............i follow the sun........
I return to my crouching with their setting
For with the bleak of the night
We can all rest............

Until a million suns shall rise and set

by Etornam Kassah

(First time I'm guest featuring anyone on any of my blogs. Etornam is a very talented poet, a marine biologist and most importantly a great friend)

Jan. 2011
 


Picture via Kwasi Adu

Popular posts from this blog

Bedtime Epiphany of a Pining Heart

Tonight,
I contemplated
On things that were and were not,
On why
Light retracts different, in your eyes,
Like rainbows randomly ricocheting
Off my intangible thoughts,
Spellbinding...

On why,
Words sound different, on your lips,
How you laugh,
How the sounds take a path,
Across infinite dreams,
Into all my incarnations,
Into all my iterations,
Into all...

Tonight,
I concluded
You are a figment
of my imagination,
You must be...

For
God is not so cruel
That he made a Heaven like you
Then condemned me
To the Hell of perpetual longing
Wanting, and never belonging...

*****September 14, 2016*****


God is My Barber

The sickness that made the Vulture bald
would have killed the Crow.

It is because
the gods are petty
and would not be questioned
about who they show favor to,
That Crows live to,
Squawk hysterically
At Vultures' misfortune.

We have come to understand, that,
when a petty god is your barber,
Crows, who can't afford a razor,
with their benevolent destinies,
will punctuate our precious peace
with their shameless snickering.

but
the Vulture
neither
pays any mind
nor
wages a war of words
with mockers and scoffers;
for the cure for baldness
is not found in the laughter of Crows...

*****April 4, 2017*****

http://morganes-photographe.deviantart.com/
My Second poem about Vultures. I really need to stop this...😂😂😂

The Vulture

In times of famine,
The Vulture does not eat grass.
When Leopards are lean
because antelopes nowhere to be seen
The Vulture sits and watches,
Waiting...

Those who mocked his baldness
Will do well to remember
None has seen the Vulture's corpse
And he is secure in the knowledge that none will.

So,
when it rains
And they mock him
For having no nest still,
He holds his peace,
Watching...
For the Vulture, he's a patient animal.

The Vulture is not vindictive,
Those who mocked will die,
Those who didn't will die,
It matters not.
For when carcasses lay ripe
The Vulture does not ask
If his feast was once friend or foe

*****February 1, 2016*****