Its Sunday Poem by kelvin karani

Birds in the trees happily chirp
Praise and worship songs leave their tiny beaks
Side to side, from tree to tree they jump
In a pious dance unlike some mortals
Crickets and grasshoppers join in the singing
Creating a symphony so beautiful
Like the breaking of dawn in the hillsides

A cool breeze whispers
Gently swaying trees
The sun shines soberly scorching not
The world is at peaceful perfect point
All it seems in honor of its creator

Somewhere a man in three piece suit
Stands straight seeing his reflected image
A woman elsewhere does the same
Adding a little secret spouse prayer
In church these two meet and say
Its God’s will we’ve met!
Mmhh. These chess players.

Another man somewhere else
Nurses a hangover from yester night’s indulgences
Wakes up late and goes to buy the day’s paper
Another woman elsewhere tired proper
From the heavy task of nation building
Yester night in her own style
Is cleaning up.

Its Sunday
And two altars stand distinguished
One of the creator, the other of the created.