Friday, April 10, 2009

Our Prime

By Ruhudeen Ali
April 10th, 2009

Children laugh and rush out the door of the house.

A Fresh breeze, birds and trees rejuvenate without doubt.

Playing games and past-times to the sound of wind chimes

music plays to the gestures of ecstatic mimes.

A moment is created eternally sublime.

A foreboding gust wrestles the leaves suddenly.

A storm gathers the theives.

"We've got to leave" shouts a voice aloud.

Beating rainfall trekking back with aches and pains.

Dark clouds shroud the achievements of the proud.

Looking back, why were we so numb?

It's time to go back inside to where we came from.

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