Man fears the silence of the grave,
Yet death is certain, bold, and brave.
We dodge the fall, the fleeting breath,
But none can hide from patient death.
We strive to stretch each fragile hour,
To cage the storm, to bind its power;
Even when hope is thin as air,
We fight the end, though it waits there.
And stranger still, beneath the sun,
Some trade their joy before it’s done;
Africans dream of heavens bright,
Yet dim their days, and quench their light.
They starve the present for the skies,
They kill their neighbor for a prize;
They vow for bliss beyond the clay,
Yet beg that death should keep away.
Oh, what a paradox we weave,
To fear the loss, yet not believe
That life is gift, both frail and true
To live it now is all we do.
The Silence Of The Grave
Gilbert Sordebabari
(C) All Rights Reserved. Poem Submitted on 09/05/2025
Poet's note: My mother Mrs. Constance, Lenewa Nnah died on the 6th of September 2018. An unprecedented lost that makes bold "losing a mum at a tender age is quite a terrible experience". It's one experience I will never wish for anyone. At exactly seven years after my mum's demise. I came up with the above thought about life and death remembering a predominantly common view of the Africans.
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Poem topics: away, believe, brave, breath, dream, fear, hope, joy, life, light, loss, power, silence, sun, fight, trade, bold, bright, storm, cage, Print This Poem , Rhyme Scheme
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