Posted by: Ron DuBour | September 22, 2016

FRIENDS~by Tukur Loba Ridwan




Flocking together,
As birds of a feather. . .
Together, they have been
Since their breaths and brains,
Since their limbs and voices
Had begun to see the signs
Of dying days and rising nights.
Beyond six, perhaps ten –
More than few they were.
By the wind of life they glided;
Teasin’, tweakin’, chucklin’
On the race of brotherhood.
‘Blood’ was a nick for each.
They had the rest of their story
Told by the ellipses of time
Under a tale-tree of poe-tree.
But little did they know,
(And little would ever they)
That twenty years or less
Is enough for twenty tails. . .
Twenty has never been a time
Too little for these birds
To part their paths as a flock
(an adage, enough for their wings)
Until their talons began to prey on
Distinct fates over their times apart,
Owing to vicissitudes that changes
Interpret like winds – inevitable.
(White collars, brown collars,
Blue collars and other collars).
They have become gladiators
In their own armor of vision,
Wielding shields,swords,spears,
Sickles of strife and survival
(Man may maim man with this)
Guarding themselves from
Villainous shells and thrusts
(As the epic goes, while we
Watch words war on their behalf)
Friends, we call them.
Friends, they have been,
Friends…but not at the epilogue
Of a story in such fateful flux.
(Every friend grows to be
a protagonist of his own fate).

O’real © 2016.



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