The irony of the African Sun
beautifully orange, sitting at Earth’s bottom.
In her rests the power, witchcraft
not technology, to change her colour.
The Californian Sun
it does not orbit—
it is just red, less burning—
neither does other objects so bright;
the cosmic dance of the glorious Earth
is in Africa only, in the safari chest
where long-horned antelopes are watched.
No, the Californian Sun sits in
solitary.
It has no neighbours like Earth as Africa
Those who watch the Californian Sun;
they do not see the African Sun
Earth sees two Suns.
If and when we would decide to read poetry or a piece of discerning article a day, our world is, then headed for a change. No magic potion whatsoever: if there were, politicians would have used it a long time ago. Our mind is all that we have; the only exception to tricks of all corners and angles. Enjoy the luxury and peace of poetry...
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