The African Poet


There sits a man, in the corner,
There sits a book, here with me
Woven in words, built by hands of labor
All in there, as the verses begin to bind
The human hears, the old souls

Colors of creation from sweat and blood
Travel they like caravans of the night
Language that once had riders, facing sun
Now in repose, in silence,
For others to see
Its effects, as the journey begins
To emerge from the long dusty roads

There sits my friend, an old friend,
In the distance, in shadows,
As Africa unveils
Its beauty and its splendor,
Through words and fields of joy
Built in me, built by you
Of old language, that once conquered
The world, the huge civilization

Rode they like warriors with passion
From one land to another,
There sits a man, from his journey
Of old days, from the poets corner
As the rivers empty the burden, into an ocean
The old story of humans and their makings
The trails of our adventures in its elation
There sits a man, in the corner
There sits a book, with me, in silence!

KASHKIN

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5 thoughts on “The African Poet

  1. Nice!

    K – Talking of “silence”, have you noticed how slow the blogs have become – Its the situatiin in teh country – Its pulling everyone down. 😦

  2. Nice!

    K – Talking of “silence”, have you noticed how slow the blogs have become – Its the situation in teh country – Its pulling everyone down. 😦

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