Rumbling Roads
RUMBLING ROADS.
I can spend time scribbling words
Already written in 1000 note books
I could watch intently those that already HAVE
And try to get what they have achieved
I could do well too, if I pretend that I'm alone
And live on, on my own different path, I may as well think of: FATE
That fate itself doesn't exist nor does destiny
I may read over and try to feel everything
Or I may read and try not to understand a thing.
I may take it that I understand the logic in ignorance
Or believe that it is the greatest bliss of all
I would believe what have always been within
Would I trust my instincts or disbelieve trust itself?
II
Where I come from, I'm certain of
Where my so-called wisdom leads is a mystery
I can wallow in this knowledge and be complacent
Do autopsies of my self-made philosophy
And stick lead-notes on boards of rusted cliches
I could be Jubilant and celebrate my acknowledgements,
I could try to understand how my wits work
File reports on my findings and make an archive;
For the forthcoming generation to tear at my woe-
perhaps the mystery will fade,
Perhaps it's existence will never be fathomed
And I'll be sure then that this wisdom is far-fetched
Questions; I could stop asking lots of questions too.
III
Answers, they are always there
Way-laying in the paths of questions, doubt and sweat
In the tongues of pain and fiery bitter-sweet
In the crunching stones rolled on by rumbling tires
Truth; answers are in the truth that the road sires
Always there for you to step on and wonder
For you to spit on and cross over
Answers are on the clean surface of city tarmacs
In wreckage scenes of uncleared accident tracks
In the blood seeping grounds of roads of gravel
Answers are in your shoes as you trudge on
Into the unsatisfying world of demanding enlightenment
Into the future that beckons you to step forwards
Answers are in the dust you make along the rumbling roads.
-Lucas-
Copyright © Lucas Ongawo | Year Posted 2016
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