IKULELE’S BED OF ROSES
After the sun has completed his
Voyage across the sky of day and
The moon appears in all her splendour
To rule the night with her calm and mystery;
After the rooster crows it’s last with
The advent of evening,
Friends wave goodbyes and turn
To go separate ways;
There rises a silence that is more
Dead than death
And bears such a resonating sound that
Threatens to drown out the screeching cries of
The suffering souls in hell.
A silence so heavy that only the strengths of
Gods combined can lift.
It snakes in slowly and cunningly,
Scanning for the best moment to strike
And render Its victim perpetually miserable
And incapacitated.
It steals in to take dominance of Its new
Habitat and render the host useless.
Ikulele walks in glory.
His gait bearing the likeness
Of his father and his soul so radiantly
Pure, it resembles that of a newly born babe.
He bears his mother’s beauty in his eyes
And greets friends with a smile that
Comes from a place of purest intents.
His life is a bed of roses and as every Rose
Has its thorn, he has his silence.
When the gong strikes and the market
Stalls close down for the day’s enterprise,
Ikulele reunites with his silence,
One that bears the same troubling calm
That haunts a forgotten grave.
The silence steals away his joy
And puts in its place the tragedy mask;
It tames him and makes him a jester at It’s court.
When the morning comes,
The silence grows weaker
-but gets strengthened by
seconds of mental
Teleportation in the day-
Until the sun grows weary
From his harsh rule and makes way for
The quiet and mysterious
Diamond-adorned sky to take her place.
She majestically leaves when her time is due
To let the sun rule with harsh hopefulness.
The silence has to leave with the night, but
The ticking of the clock and the beating
Of the rhythm of Ikulele’s heart according to
His alloted time gives the Silence confidence
To do as much damage as can be done
Before redemption or damnation.
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