Ask Me Not of Sunset.
Do not come and ask me of sunset,
For I have not seen one,
For I have not been one.
They came and asked:
How about the greying of hair,
The fall of tooth,
The aching of bones,
Is it not sunset?
I answered them loud and clear:
No, it is not sunset,
Because for every strand of grey hair,
Every tooth that fell,
Every aching of the bones,
A new wisdom will come, knocking at our door:
Learn anew, it is dawn again.
The next time they marched and shouted:
How about the faces we forget,
The names we cannot recall,
The memories that fly away,
Is it not sunset?
So I answered them louder and clearer:
No, it is not sunset.
Because for every face, and name,
And memory we lost,
There is always a new song waiting to be sung,
A new poem to be written,
To honour all that have gone by.
They stomped their feet and screamed:
How about those departures of our beloved,
Early evening slumber that feels too early,
The loneliness of the soul,
Is it not sunset?
I smiled and answered:
No, it is not sunset,
For every departure will remind us
To paint a worthwhile legacy,
All loneliness and slumber that feels too early,
Will be wiped away by a morning prayer,
And by a first, small step in the dawn.
Ask me not of sunset,
For I have not seen one,
For I have not been one.
Rizka Baely.