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Apropos A Psalm to Awareness:
To be sorry, is to tarry in darkness;
to be aware, is to be enlightened.
Beneath the celestial canopy,
emerald hedging casted moonlight
shadows on the Edenic-like scene.
Scattered clouds crawled casually
across the sparkling blue sky.
An old wise owl—hooting—cracked
the curtain of silence. A dying star, outing
in big bang, shot across the cosmos—unexpectedly.
Suddenly, the thunder roared! The lightning struck!
Frightened rain stampeded the nocturnal plain;
weary, worn darkness sought repose. Lazily,
the golden sun yawned—peeked out—and rose.
The elders say when the owl hoots—
on moonlit nights—somebody’s dying;
that the rain cries their goodness.
Yesterday, injustice became the scene’s
theme. Last night had no moon—the owl,
a silent sentinel—and the rain—it never fell.
