When before a mirror
I dare to stand
My aging
I clearly understand.
Immersed in life’s race
I’ve underwent
A fast pace
Away from my
Youthful physical grace;
Forehead-turned-face
With a scantly
Populated graying hair
Where
Dark, straight ones
Were there.
A temple
For white grass
An example.
A beard
That conjures up
In mind
A black cat,
With furs dark silk,
That dipped its mouth
In a bowl of milk.
Curly mug
A soaked rug
Burrows and furrows
Did dare
To plow it
Without care.
A curved back
Metaphoric of
Ill-filled sack.
A gait
To extrapolate
The drawing nigh
On my life’s horizon
The sunset.
A push
To the peripheries
Of the romance market
Feeble, budding flower
To date.
The bashing of
Soaring hope
Owing to reality’s
Gravity rope.
A regret
To the befallen fate.
A desire to take
The clock back
By elixir-like luck.
But a consolation
From accumulated skill,
Knowledge
To command
Respect, attention.
BY ALEM HAILU G/KRISTOS
THE ETHIOPIAN HERALD WEDNESDAY 15 NOVEMBER 2023
