Words of a Sage

Words of a Sage

In my proud African village;

I have the honor of hearing words of a sage,

Saying: Remember this if the air ever smells of war;    

Only a stupid cow rejoices at a prospect of a beautiful abattoir;

But examine the spear that landed at your gate before the wound it tore,

For on their ways you might find many more;

Says the sage:  If a neighbor’s spear lands at your door,

Spear you could throw but that is a weak way to go;

Swallow this: You have lost his respect and you are to blame;

For neighbor's act is a measure of lost love and unison at your own home;

Says the sage: question instead your own grand chiefs for their laxity and callus visage;

Who, in times of windfall harvest shunned deliberation and seized rancor;

Vesting none for the spirits of love of the living and the departed;

Who in times of peace shunned to plant seeds of honor;

Vesting less sacrifice of unison at the altar of nationhood;  

Lacking the wrath to display at the denigration of their people,

In many lands, waters, their homes and yonder;

Says the sage: War could subdue a neighbor but could not install the lost love at your home,

That is yours to work for and to dream,

Love is no out pour of a spear but accepting self no matter how grim;

So preceding the blame, ask why is love not cultivated at home?

That we represent, in the mirror of neighbors, an image of shame?

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