Let us go to the tale of the night.
When the guns had not been found.
Let us sway under the gentle moon;
As our dreams are laid in the stars.
Let us run in the dust and scream
and find in the air, a perfect friend.
Let us let our eyes see the sea,
and the rushing waves at shore.
Let us feel the night’s music
And remember how to be young.
We fold our feet in the dust
under the baobab tree of old;
and find the tales that told
the journey of what was before.
Eagerly we pounced on the tales
of morals laid in the lines. Our
wrinkled sage’s palms were free.
Before our hands, we feel the test
of time and know that to be free, we
must be children again and remember
how to be young.
For we are fading in the mystic of
all that truth has laid bare. Sinking
into the mire of time, we forget the
simple joy of love, that is pure as the
light of the sun that runs so free.
we must remember our days
as we seek the past to find
the future before us.
© Elijah Abuni Peter.