Peter Daniel Phiri
Farewell, Dear Old Poet
Oh, dear old poet!
Your words make sense to me now,
Five years after you are dead and gone; lying in your grave quiet.
My spirit is full like the river before my eyes,
Like these ripples and seductive song it enchants without thought;
Sorrow fills my spirit as wisdom comes to me with enlightenment sky wide.
I am a keeper of the fiber of wisdom hidden in every poet's thought.
I was an egg, but now I've hatched, I no longer hide.
My soul is enchanted,
Coated with the addiction of rhyme, wisdom and mystery;
Fear has long departed.
I feel the little steps of my mind creep to the same levels,
Of poets of yesteryear.
Farewell dear poet,
I'm quoting your words now and I'm so sad,
I wish I should have said thank you not walk out on you.
'Lad, you are too young to be famous,
But in your poems, I find wisdom and sense you have no idea you put across.
Your mind should peel to its core, then you will understand these things I utter.
Poetry is an art of living;
To be a great poet; poetry must consume you a great deal.
But your day will come when you shall utter things that make sense;
Way after their echoes have faded.
Only then Lad, shall you become a great poet....
Mind and know where your poems root from,
And fame will follow you.
Unfortunately you shall become famous after I've gone,
So I hope these things I utter shall remain tattoed in your mind,
And be your guide
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