Birth Of A Day Poem by Samson Nyarima

Slowly, the sun peeps
From its mourning grave
Red like a forgotten bush fire
Touching the embers of a waking day
It sends its long fingers of light
Like tentacles, to grab the mist of
Morning, like spears to pierce
All aspects of the rising universe;
the mist plays a jig,
Or is it the rays that play on pools
Formed by the dew that soon disappears
In the powerful grip of this rising majesty
I sit by the window watching
The birth of a destiny and dream of
All that go with a waking day