N ow the bells are tolling –
a year is dead.
And my heart is slowly beating
the Nunc Dimittis
to all my hopes and mute
yearnings of a new year.
And ghosts hover round
dream beyond dream
Dream beyond dream
mingling with the brightest gleam.
Bell-sounds fading
into memories
like rain drops
falling into a river.
And now the bells are chiming –
a year is born.
And my heart-bell is ringing in a dawn.
But it’s shrouded things I see
dimly stride
on heart-canopied paths
to a riverside.
Why? African culture, so interesting, somebody should tell me and lets enjoy it.