Salute to Time | Susan N. Aassahde
a motorbike
zips through traffic
with my passing years
Maybe, in other kingdoms
to have the infallible sense
of what our lives are meant to be.
Maybe, the trees may touch us
and the flowers have time for us.
Maybe, we may gleam
a sunny morning on the leaves,
maybe, we may rest
on the immaterial chords of love.
In other kingdoms…
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I am here on an archaeological quest,
to satisfy many a curious mind’s request
for knowledge on antiques and artifacts
of Egypt’s long extinct historical facts,
in treasured sands buried, like gold mines earnestly
sought for in stories shrouded in mythology.
With a large contingent just as curious as I,
hardly daunted by curses, but with shoulders high,
We went to the field, the sun baking us chaps
to a baker’s delight. With our rumpled maps,
we searched every clue, and were bitten perhaps
by a million flies. Getting relief from sunless skies
in times of fair weather, whilst hoping something lies
in the depths of the hot sands for our very eyes
to see. With my tools by hard work and search worn out,
I brushed to full view, the tomb, brilliantly carved out
of young blue blooded Tut, regally laid to rest.
To my wearied colleagues, I spoke in real earnest:
‘To exhume the past, we are here at last.’
Laughter has been banned indefinitely
Preparing for King Donnie’s Corona-tion
Junior is the heir apparent to the throne
Everyone is sad and dreary everywhere I roam
Donnie is still longing for complete exoneration
For exterminating all the Old Folks At Home