Suburbs
When I hear the voices of little children
early at dusk just before twilight comes
with their faces cloaked by
the shawl of innocence
waving goodbye to the setting sun,
my heart leaps for joy;
as I watch agape as they jump, chatter
and clatter with such intense vigour
on the open green fields beyond the moors
outside the curtilage of their homes
in the serene suburbs of the countryside
for a trifling thing
as waving goodbye to the setting sun.
From afar, it’s startling from my view
how they form a ring of troth
joining hands together
and roundabout in clockwise shift,
sing merry songs while the setting sun seems
to wave back at them with a smile…
Perhaps, it appears as it seems a common ritual
in the suburbs of the countryside
as often as I journey back there, I find
little children welcoming the full moon,
waving goodbye to the setting sun.
And in their ecstatic pulsations, I feel reborn
from my mother’s milky womb, submersed
in innocence—enchanted—nescient of
my whereabouts that keeps me
wondering what excites them so.
Then, as I look beyond the horizon,
I remember I was once as they are—
innocent and oblivious—without shame
and scars of sorrow; for I too,
with friends and peers welcomed the moon
and waved goodbye to the setting sun.
Copyright © Patrick Utitufon | Year Posted 2016
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