Chibuike ukah
Yesterday’s Gold
Give me a clean palm of yesterday’s gold,
full metal, hard and solid on crisscrossing palms,
they are heavy when landing on a surface,
and cause the mountains and hills to collapse,
the earthquake to form a valley of fear.
Do not send me a basket of lavender gold,
that can carry dust and rust in its shade;
not standing its weight, nor bearing its colour,
or sliding from side to side, lustreless and weak,
with the simpering sun wounding its light and glow
When gold decays, its spice floats on the sea
with a thousand ornaments that swim across
and stumble to death or crash without grace;
a witness to time, the spectator to the simpered sun,
when glory degenerates, happiness disintegrates.
But yesterday's gold is a clinging child of memories,
that neither the sword of time nor the shedding of light
can ground its beauty or destroy its sturdiness;
out of which we become the ceaseless galaxy,
rooted in our blood, steeped in our filtered love.
Though Grace is a double carriageway,
on whose lanes good and evil travel;
but yesterday’s gold prevails on its solitary path,
from where its luminous light throws shadows around,
overwhelms the dark and streams into tomorrow.
So will yesterday’s gold devour the worst times
and will no longer hide from tumult and crises;
everything stays alluring as it will be tomorrow,
as genuine love never feels abandoned and strayed,
when eternity is the longest thread of lucid dreams.
Give me a clean palm of yesterday’s gold,
full metal, hard and solid on crisscrossing palms,
they are heavy when landing on a surface,
and cause the mountains and hills to collapse,
the earthquake to form a valley of fear.
Do not send me a basket of lavender gold,
that can carry dust and rust in its shade;
not standing its weight, nor bearing its colour,
or sliding from side to side, lustreless and weak,
with the simpering sun wounding its light and glow
When gold decays, its spice floats on the sea
with a thousand ornaments that swim across
and stumble to death or crash without grace;
a witness to time, the spectator to the simpered sun,
when glory degenerates, happiness disintegrates.
But yesterday's gold is a clinging child of memories,
that neither the sword of time nor the shedding of light
can ground its beauty or destroy its sturdiness;
out of which we become the ceaseless galaxy,
rooted in our blood, steeped in our filtered love.
Though Grace is a double carriageway,
on whose lanes good and evil travel;
but yesterday’s gold prevails on its solitary path,
from where its luminous light throws shadows around,
overwhelms the dark and streams into tomorrow.
So will yesterday’s gold devour the worst times
and will no longer hide from tumult and crises;
everything stays alluring as it will be tomorrow,
as genuine love never feels abandoned and strayed,
when eternity is the longest thread of lucid dreams.