Folks uninitiated
Befuddled at our lofty art
That weaves words like threads
Into such lovely tapestries
I don’t blame them –
Folks sunk in bewilderment
At our noble craft
That uses words as bricks
In raising such magnificent monuments
I don’t blame them –
Pathetic aliens to a world
In which words are grapes
For the making of one
Of soul’s finest wine
I don’t blame them –
Who, were the literary constellation
Life’s lone illumination
Would be confined to the horror
Of a lifetime in the dark
I don’t blame them –
And why would I?
Has not the Creator
In wisdom all-transcending,
Endowed us differently?
I don’t blame them –
And why should I?
Am I not even at a loss
Watching
As they, too, flaunt their forte?
Ours is a world of colour
A canvas, if you like;
A world, of diverse departments
To oblige our unique leanings
And serve our collective yearnings;
A world, which must find her beauty
Rooted, deep, in her diversity
And now,
To one and all
I say:
Let the kite perch,
And also, the eagle
If one should object to the other
Let his wings snap!
Written by: Sunny Eke
Edited by: Kukogho Iruesiri Samson
