Ain’t she pretty, when she sleeps by @TheVeon

The sun makes a last minute appearance;

vehicles rushing

occupants in a rush to get home

blowing up the earth

into a dusty frenzy.

The red rays on the brown dust

as it seeks to touch the thorny acacia.

The few people dotting my countryside

are all part of her beauty,

ain’t she pretty when she sleeps.

Dusk slowly approaches,

mothers rush home

the children at their heels

the evening meal on each ones mind.

The men

walking in the opposite direction

talking animatedly

of things only they know,

as they gather with the dusk

with their heads together;

they discuss the day

or maybe predict tomorrow

(I do not know).

I look from a distance

and think to myself

ain’t she pretty when she sleeps.

The cows and their bells

are long gone

it’s dark and

few are outside.

It’s a little chilly

but i want to watch,

to try and count

these amazing fireflies

of my amazing countryside.

I look up

and the sky

dark, devoid of stars

yet delicately beautiful

is like a blanket

covering my sleeping country

as crickets sing to me

thinking to myself:

ain’t she pretty when she sleeps.

I lower my eyes a little

and in the darkness

search the west for our graceful hills.

The scattered lights

assure me

that this is no forest,

hyenas wail in the distance,

the neighbor’s dogs bark;

Ain’t she pretty when she sleeps.

I stand on a boulder

facing the east

see the horizon in the distance

knowing there lies a highway.

Watch the movement of the taillights in the distance

thinking of the fumes.

I can almost smell them,

grateful that i do not live there.

The wind blows

and I can almost feel it caress my face

swaying tree branches

with the crickets singing.

I breathe my country’s air

and i know

she’s pretty;

especially when she sleeps.

Original post from way back in 2013 🙂