MYSTERIES

We can never know
The pure prayers of whimpering crickets
No matter the force behind their voices

II
Like paintings with no colorful inks
We can never know
The real colours of clothes
Worn by our forefathers
As they stood to pose for the cameras
Only glad to leave their images, no matter how bleak, behind

III
We can never know
The real skin tone of peacocks
Who lift their shoulders of feathers
Like egoed men ready to battle

IV
Minds have many lost histories
And eyes can do nothing to help
Cuffs of limited knowledge imprison our sights
Making us grope like blind men in serene places
Mistaking hard stones for gold
It is the cursed blessings of beginners
Giving us blurred sightfulness
Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2015

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