TO THE SAGES

When the sound of the trumpet
Is rejected in echo
Like a ball thrown to a wall
And it finds not the hole and the mouth
Which gave it life for the errand
It falls into vanishment
Like little dust in overflowing gutters
Let ears hear the sound of tolerance

II
When the cock sings at dawn to wake all
It feels important
But the lullabic voice of a nightingale in the evening
Shakes its grounds in jealousy
Until it falls under the spell of sleep
Knowing masters have masters
There is nothing wrong with bosses of different times

III
You rise to the dawn of change
Or the morning of continuance
Heads are similar modules
Minds form to repel even itself
Engaging in internal war
Many times in a day
Causing battles unseen
Is it a wonder when two separate heads crash?

IV
There is the fool
And there is the coward
There are those who push the sails backward
There is the wise
There is the brave
There are muscles which force us forward
Wherever your tongue stir
Ridden by thoughts
Remember you are no sky to suspend
You need the grounds to walk
The sages will drink from this weave of wisdom
And fan the sweat of boiling tempers to cool
Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) Nov. 18, 2016