The Great Passage
All feet toward you walk
You admit all
No hidden charges.
The beautiful Mansion flees into a void
Wine glasses fall to pieces
Dressed table rot with their exotic foods.
The boisterous office goes mute
The clock ticks eeriely for no one
Files wear worries.
Revelers’ pomp shares space with thin air
Lowered flags flutter all the same
In a subdued wind searching for a place to hide.
Mourners stand at a distance
Hand over their heads
Beat their breasts
With their face masked
Afraid to raise their voices or breathe
Lest the leveler
Raises an invoice for a new sale.
The moon will be up tonight
With a message in shaken skies
And vanish at dawn.
Yesterday drifts away into
The vast sea of history
With old wares
Yet we learn nothing about life
A smouldering bunch of dry leaves
Bound for a heap of ashes.
(C) Philemon Doro Adjekuko 18042020