Prose

Onoriode ( Who knows tomorrow): A father’s undated note to his child.

Of dreams that sleep into the night sky like a dry leaf taken by a draft.
GONE.
LOST
.

Of steps by the shores of a ravine,
A slip,
A plunge into despair,
But scooped by the mighty and tender hands of the Sovereign,
A universal Guardian.

Of problems that vanish like a breath into the air,
But get back in line to get in with their bad baggage.
A terror to forbid.

Of legs that quit the maddening run on a race course
To saunter like a fluffy puppy in the sweet smelling garden of lilies.
A bouquet to hold and to behold.

Here,
May be,
A sigh in a numbing darkness.
There
CERTAINLY,
A leap in the beach of joy.

Scoff at no one,
Neither at a friend,
Nor an enemy.

The wheel of life is a chariot of many faces
Who can tell where it will head.
South or North,
East or West,
To pick a fare,
To dump into the restless sea of mankind
Or into a cocoon of calm,
Heavenly bliss.

In the face of adversity, learn to laugh.
In the midst of plenty, be sober, be kind.
In warmth, think of those who are cold.
In the cold, know that warmth exists somewhere.
Find it,
With or without help.

Never give up until you take you station in the courtyard of royalties,
Your inheritance.

Then,
I can finally depart for that distant land with a huge smile splashed on my face like a kiss planted by an angel.

About author
Publisher and Editor-in-Chief, Newspackng.
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