Man in his Prime
Incessantly, and yet I still urge,
For the greater good, and I pledge
To cling to my craft and surge
Till our meandering pathways finally merge.
Whence tales of beauty and of love foretell
Of days adorned with melodious bells,
And voices in tune with their wishing wells,
Eroding the shards of my feeble shell.
Endued with another soul I met in books,
Who gave me dreams with open eyes;
Affirmed by a lady freed from her crooks,
Who said, “Arise for the Man in the Skies.”
Away from paths so cold and pale
That drowned the vessel of my lone sail,
And pierced its canvas to no avail
On days when no amber light prevailed.
From muted corners my kind fall asunder;
Fame, greed, and fantasies reign supreme.
Modesty is thrashed, love reduced to a number,
Honesty discarded, or so it would seem.
What do I even know of my sable race?
My heroes die young, their efforts suppressed.
What am I truly taught to embrace—
Mediocrity and fallacy as virtues confessed?
Now we loathe and fear to rise, dear foe.
It is all fractured, yet hope remains, you know.
Perhaps through welcoming change and renewing minds—
This unwavering dream of a man in his prime.
To glide over the loura on angel wings,
Amid the sound of a thousand rare kora strings,
And beneath varied kente colourings,
Enshrined within a divine moment in time;
Dispelling the vivid imaginary blind,
Awakened at last to what fate may design,
Apt within this pastel state—
The enduring dream of a man in his prime
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