Legacy

Were I to forsake legacies but one
It’d be the age old songs of my anc’stors
The sombre fragrance of that holy home
Where bricks of their sweats are piled there under
Layer by layer. Ringing blest glory
Of the suns of peace and moons of silence
Where woven of dreams is their common story
Decking swampy-marshlands by their vigilance.
The prestige and

pride of their belonging
Resonates every morning and evening
On the roads, in schools, farms, the hills and vales
The streams, rivers, winds and the narrow foot-trails.
And though here

I’m bathed in the hose of time
Hope revives to hear again those songs sublime.

23/09/2012