Pilgrims Poem by Hillary Nwaigbo

Oh! Woman's born
Thou art pilgrims here on Earth
Our stay only but ephemeral
And life, just a fleeting moment
Her full essence, never enough to savour
It's feeble hands too slippery for a grip

Man, only but ashes of burnt stars
Our existence, just like dark clouds
His being meant to feel the voids
Left in downtrodden hearts

Each fleeing yellow-skyed flower
Brings us closer to Earth's brown clay
Our bodies feasting the dust
At the wake of the Dawn's day

The thought of kissing the soil
Ravages the mind's calm tempest
The frosty hands of death
Always famished to reborn it's dearth.
© MAVEN HILLS