As The Weeks Go By Poem by Lutho Mbabala

...and a new week is upon us,
to what dire end, each the same, all callous.
Evenings and mornings, like chaos and order,
the incessant duality erect as a boulder.
As I these morbid lines do pen,
beneath stars chilled by winter gusts
I reminisce of twirly roads trod,
of tiny cars whisking up steeps,
to see the man-made starry night.

Well, a new week is upon us,
another has passed, and yet we're back at stitching the old carcass.
Yarns and sinews, thumb and thimble
fitting all together as life's incoherent riddle.
I let out a tumultuous sigh, as I realize that this,
this continuum of weeks, points to man's demise.

Indeed, as the new week arrives
possibly bearing good-tidings and I,
I think of your dark-brown eyes
in which lie all mysterious candor.
Only to be unveiled at great expense,
Oh how one would sheepishly enjoy all that splendour.
For though these weeks follow one after another
like non other you remain alone un-alike