On that day the west shall
beckon on the sun to
come home, for long
it has not known thd orange visage.
Then beautiful feet will grace
with each tender thud setting a tune
for the dust to dance; the
blades of grass become fine
blunt faces as the bow awe-struck.
'what struck? ' the verbena,
and aloes ask.
These feet had now covered
some distance, invoking boughs
to break-free from the shackles of the seeds.
Trees marveled, the wind sped past
them on it's caravan, delighting the leaves;
even the sun looked back.
The lilies now interested, along side aloes and roses:
'what makes my root dance? '
then, a whisper-
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Comments about this poem (Ekama by Israel Ebiti )
- weird smells, lee fones
- Truth, Jonathan H. Scott
- Hindi haiku - diwali, S.D. TIWARI
- You, With Your Wild Strawberries, Will N.., mary douglas
- A jumping bean, Harold R Hunt Sr
- A bean, Harold R Hunt Sr
- There are heroes, Harold R Hunt Sr
- Love counts the hours, Mark Heathcote
- My Deck, Harold R Hunt Sr
- A trip to rotgut, Harold R Hunt Sr
Poem of the Day
- Still I Rise, Maya Angelou
- Phenomenal Woman, Maya Angelou
- Annabel Lee, Edgar Allan Poe
- Nothing Gold Can Stay, Robert Frost
- Dreams, Langston Hughes
- Fire and Ice, Robert Frost
- Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night, Dylan Thomas
- The Road Not Taken, Robert Frost
- I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings, Maya Angelou
- If, Rudyard Kipling
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
- Heather Burns
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(27 October 1914 – 9 November 1953)
(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994)
(13 September 1916 – 23 November 1990)