The Call

The call

The messenger since ages,
He hunted the path of our forefathers,
His call echoes through ages,
Never mind the tears of mothers!
He lies between light and darkness,

Especially when we strive to see the brightness.

If he visits me, how should I entertain him?
Will you morn me?
After I give up my soul to please him,
Will smoke fill the air as dirge from
Your lips?
Will you bury me?
Or only if the vultures spare me?

To my beloved maiden,
Thy sight I wish not so see tears,
To your soul not see Fears,
But to thy garment be black,
Your thumbs hold tight to the candle?
To thy bed you should cuddle.

Balogun David {drunk poet}
© 2016