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Eunice Apil Poem
Who is this stranger,
that spares nobody?
Rich or poor, young and old,
Royal or common,
It spares none!
Who is this stranger,
that comes like a bad storm
and does nobody good?
Who is this stranger,
that is around us all the time,
watching and waiting to knock on our door anytime?
Who is this stranger waiting to snatch from us,
the minute we make a mistake?
Who is this stranger?
Who is this unwanted visitor,
that comes to pay us a visit at odd times?
Who is this unwanted visitor that comes to us uninvited?
Who is this visitor,
that surprises us with it’s visit without letting us know?
I hear it whispering an answer,
saying that it is just a Gardner weeding,
It’s garden to get rid of the weeds.
It says it must weed out the old so the new can inherit.
It says it must weed out some flowers so as to avoid competition.
It says must weed out the old empire,
with old ideas so as to create a new one with new ideas.
But must this Gardner,
weed out even the newly born!
Must it even take away the strong healthy flowers!
Must it weed from even the less privileged with nothing!
This is a Gardner,
Whose ways are mysterious and complex to understand?
Copyright © Eunice Apil | Year Posted 2008
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Eunice Apil Poem
Is not miles away for you,
It is with you.
It starts today,
Not tomorrow.
Is not fiction,
It a fact.
Is not fantasy,
It is reality.
May be as old as creation,
Or may be even older.
Has never gone on holiday,
But is always working hard determining people’s future.
The rich and poor,
Young and old,
Royal and common all have the future determine their future.
It may be as bright as daytime sunlight in the desert,
Or as dark as midnight without moon light.
The future they say lies in your hands,
But sometimes fate may have more say.
It may offer you many paths,
With many destinations.
And with many paths,
One may choose the wrong destination unknowingly.
If it so does happen,
And one takes the wrong path,
And arrivals at the wrong destination,
Then the religious will say it is not to late to repent.
In truth,
There is no end to the future or wrong destination,
Only when one’s dead and gone.
The future that passes you by,
and one that you arrival at becomes yesterday.
Yet again another future is born with,
With many different paths and destination.
Copyright © Eunice Apil | Year Posted 2008
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Eunice Apil Poem
The burning lamp that never runs out of oil,
The burning fire that never burns,
anything so seriously like a bush fire.
The ageless fire that never dies out,
but shines so brightly up in the sky.
It has seen it all,
Evolution, our forefathers, famine and wars.
It has seen it all,
but will not tell.
Knows it all but will not say.
If it were a camera,
It would have given scientists answers to all mysteries.
If it could speak,
would have whispered a few solutions to mother earth,
about it earthly problems of disease, famine, war and death.
It is just a burning fire from a distance,
that is neither our enemy nor friend,
but knows it duties.
It rises noiselessly from its rising direction of the East,
setting peacefully in its setting direction of the west.
It knows that if it does not come out and shine,
man shall freeze and die and so will everything else.
And if it does not set,
crops shall wither and dry out,
and so will the water holes and the oceans.
It will shine so brightly,
not to necessarily give you a brighter future,
but so as to give you light to see your path clearly,
and arrive at the right destination.
It will set,
So that you can rest from your trips,
And take your mind away from your worries.
Copyright © Eunice Apil | Year Posted 2008
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