Vanity Poem by Eric Mwenda

That i shall desire dearly
and the wisdom on bled ball points,
as old as the empress of time,
on worn tatters shall hold the allure
but no matter the chase
shall quench no thirst

Is this my war
to find and stack high
and live bold, not to shame
my people?
Is it my will's call
that my plucker shall pluck
that i may be crowned a man
like the rest?
Is it a dance
or struggle for life
that sway the leaves and branches
in the willful wind?

That you will toil and earn
and loose
and run again,
and shall touch the skies
and pack memories sweet
bitter sweet, sadistic sweet
that poor soul dearly clings to
with a owning tear
but none that the soul shall
retire with.
All vanity of vanities