The Grass Is Greener

We’re not called upon to choose anything we live through; Neither parent nor sibling nor school nor form of sinew; Neither colour of hair or eye or skin, Nor love or hate, nor loss or gain Nor opportunities nor whence we come. So much is true. But as much as this truth I hold as true as sunlight, I know that painful times will time to time alight When with bitter phlegm you curse The earth where you breathed first And wish your day of birth were scratched by He with might. I know. Same feelings have plagued my adult soul And the wish for better home to make each day whole Has been dashed by shameful news, Where Hope, seeing Hitler, and 94’s Hutus, Needs to hide its youth to stall the death toll. But amidst pain, hate and bottled despair rife There’s the rare love, innocent and hardly grasping to life. For here, we can give our all When we choose to keep you from a fall. We really do it: humble, loving…just like the Lord’s life. Yes, it’s easier to perceive the weeds in one’s garden For the pastures beyond gleam in our myopia, hiding their burden. And seeing that weed can cast a shadow On all that’s sweet, but cause much ado About the bitter parts, and it day by day your heart will harden. Think of the evening breeze on the night grill, Feeding the flames of a delicious family fish meal. Think of hitting the unadulterated Lands of hills where ancient rivers percolated And happy goats skip, and cattle graze and one can feel Life whizzing through rustling leaves of dancing old tree or reed, Playing the music our ancestors learned to read, Making your lungs touch their purpose, Dazzling your eyes like a Jabbawockeez pose, The music we’ve forgotten as we focus on some RSS feed. Think of the youths wise with tradition re-enacting solemnly The dances and music handed down from before when Ptolemy Phrased ancient philosophical data, To the time of the expansive empire of Sundiatta Beads stomping the dust frantically in musical poetry. Picture the pure darkness which crowds the silent night air, Unveiling the marvellous dotted and scattered there In the moonlit heavenly canvas, Watching us from light years past, And we fascinated by the sparkling magic they share. So to sum it all up, I know it cannot be perfect, And sometimes I rant and make massive graffiti of its defects, But this home my parents chose Still draws my spirit close, For the bond is deeper, far deeper than human senses can detect. (c) Nyonglema