Words of a Sage

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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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