Tales Of Evanescence

• Nana Koranteng-Gyasi, Grade 12
• Poetry
• 2020

WHEN the Wind waves its convivial hand to me, Ceaselessly drifting from
scene to scene, Mine has left a blindfold obstructing my vision
of its sight. If Man were paper planes flying in its favour, would
we wave back? Or count the multitudinous betrayals it left with its passing?
It taunts our weightless confidence. Until one day, OH, that frightful day!
When Winter’s lies are no more, And Spring’s dance fails to enchant my
complex state of Mind, When in Summer it wailed of its loneliness,
Only to leave me with Autumn’s angst and broken memories.
Then shall my arms be lifted towards my forefathers as I float with him, To
the realm beyond existence, To the realm beyond materialistic possession
To the place where dust settles and meets its eternal glory.
Until that hour unknowingly approaches, Wind, my last words are these:
“Look within these innocent eyes
The crystal ball shall forever dictate your woven lines
For eternity shall you shamefully crawl,
But for generations shall we cover our senses to your despairing thrall.”