Strangers took a stinging stroll
With the natives that own the soil
Their threshold could bear only cold
So they hid heat beneath a shade
They wore their shades and looked beyond
Hoping to foresee the kingdom come.
In their hundreds and thousands
Men of the pen penned their ideals
Recapturing her in gracious light
Standing upright, showing solidarity
Like a monument named after a hero.
Next were the men of the mock-art
Who saw only the sarcasm and humour
Baking with lexis which were comic relief
That their audience drank as water
And longed to chew like beef.
In all my seeing, I saw a gardener
Waiting prudently to primp the dense area
In his hand, he held a shovel and a blade
To weed out every dark matter that stole unity.
He is the silhouette of the time
Philosophy’s world of reality
Floating through appearance
Until even that becomes a dream.