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 🙂
