QUIETUS
Stirring muscles cloaked in ebony,
Guided with coveted skill
The drill rod to precise bites of earth, and
Funnelled yield to observant, distant natives.
In return,
The clink of coin in his till
At month end
Bloody highways sheathed in ebony,
Delivered food and thieves
To unguarded fettle engaged in honest labour.
Wasted prop of a family in good circumstance;
Costly indiscretion,
To sate a base urge goading reprieve
At day’s end
Hurriedly laid in a casket of ebony,
Packaged, ready for Hades.
He’s eternally indifferent to that thief
Named with a foreboding slash to segregate the dying;
Seven letter name,
Said contrite by all – HIV/AIDS
At life’s end.
An opaque future dark as ebony,
Beckoned the surviving brood.
They lingered, deprived of a father’s nourishment.
Their humongous woe supplicated by a multitude;
Equal Opportunity Grief
That everywhere numbs the enquiring mind!
Is there an end?
Note: I wrote this poem after the death of a HIV-positive colleague. This is the first time I've shared any of my poetry.
