Toy Soldier
Tens of hundreds of threads that cannot keep warmth;
So I'm paddling in my sheets,
Between me and sleep are cats from the neighbourhood
whose meows are babies out crying each other in the dark;
And once again my waxen heart walks the cold wire of night.
I think to myself how strange years decay;
How daunting the sound of my voice quakes within my lungs,
And how this chin has inflamed into a carpet of bristles and pimples.
I think to myself how slow the fragile sprouts
of yesterday become forests of today,
And realise how soon sons of the hoe become men of the crop;
Now that I'm a man with hopes, dreams and responsibilities,
I will sorrow not for the suns of my days of youth,
But learn to live this fate;
Rivers spite not their fates with the sea.
The departure of a boy from his parents' house
Is the tossing of a sparrow into a violent wind.
Life is watching my first steps into this demanding war of adulthood,
I don't expect much to come into these sinful hands;
For a million dishes there is to wash before one can dine with life,
I'm just a toy soldier.
12/07/17
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Copyright © Kunda Chamatete | Year Posted 2017
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