IS IT REALLY A HOLIDAY?

These tools need oiling

These tools of mine need a breather

These tools of life’s conflict must rest

And the earthly mandated leaders have given a day.

 

I could sleep and test death

I could sit and try to see the air

I could sing myself hoarse

I could just walk around aimlessly

 

But that will make no sense

Because this machine works all round

It works without being told

Its central point needs no holiday

 

It’s holiday, I fear to take

I’m told it’s an out journey with no turning back

I fear and shiver at the day

That we mock year in and out to delightfully take once.

   Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © 2014.