Harry Biosah Poet Prose Poetry

This Is My Morning

THIS IS MY MORNING
Today is my morning,
Today, I arise
To the fresh, reassuring embrace
And scintillating breath of a winter morning
I arise, to the warmth of my enclave,
Far from the maddening crowd

Today,
I choose to bask in the ecstasy and freshness
Of the morning dew
Instead of hale, blizzard and storm
I choose to smell the fresh brew of rose flower 
Wafting through the atmosphere;
Dwarfing every stale smell of decay, rust and rot

Today,
I refuse to be bugged down
By man made barrier,
And the cynical art of divide and conquer;
Of imaginary wars and rumours of war
I choose to bask in the aroma of sweet sunlight
Instead of the quicksand of darkness and deceit

Today, This morning,
Like a rose, hibiscus flower,
I choose to blossom and flourish
Instead of folding up and withering
I choose to clap, sing and dance
Instead of mourning, moaning;
And leaking the wound of rejection and dejection
I choose to smile, laugh and live
Instead of sadness, sorrow and death

I choose love, kindness, affection and bloom
Over hate, dread, disdain, doom and destruction
I choose to dream of heavenly bliss
Instead of swearing, drooling, ducking and buckling
I choose to be color blind
Instead of a color war
I choose Sister-hood and brother-hood
Over deceit and vain glory

Today, this morning,
I choose life over death
This is my morning

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