Treasure Island

Chris Jibero



Every twilight
the power of night leaves one wondering
whether man really has strong balls
as he is wont to make the weaker vessel believe
for how can its advent cause those that scamper out
early in the morning from their beds
as though they were rabbits
smoked out of their warrens
by ingenious rodent hunters
to also scurry back to their lairs
in the evening to roost
because night approaches menacingly
brandishing no weapon of warfare
but wearing only the regalia of darkness
with which it terrifies and stampedes the fearful
forcing them to retreat and surrender
without putting up the simplest resistance

And mothers cuddle their frightened babies
to put them early to bed
like hens protecting their broods
from the claws of roving predators
to seek safety and warmth in their men’s arms
which the conqueror had earlier weakened
and sacked from their duty posts
just with its masked face
that hides treasures and peace

An overzealous head teacher
strutting around our school premises
with a long cane to stamp his authority
on naughty pupils that he chases
to their bedrooms
where he knocks them out
keeping them down
obedient in defeat
till the sun pushes forward a brand new day
to rescue and bestow fresh courage on all
that had succumbed to night’s enforcing strokes

But when will man come to the realisation
that night is taking undue advantage of him
with his hideous but cowardly countenance
that speedily dissolves in light?

Submitted: Friday, April 12, 2013
Edited: Tuesday, October 08, 2013

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(c) Chris Jibero.

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