Ruthfirst Ayande

When the marching sounds cease,
and the battle songs fade,
the poeple are always jolly
and say the end has come at last:
oh! stupid folly.

Do we feel at ease?
we pretend we have a future
when we cant forget the past,
we say we have a sense of pride
when we can pronounce our names no more;
yes! illuminated illusions.

Do not our shadows follow us?
though wounds do always heal,
their scars sure never leave
and more than scars our memories are
because they come with pain attached.
Ha! some comfort.

So when you hear the marching sound recede
and when the drumbeat slowly dies,
know that the trumpet could resound
and the battle thought won, could start afresh.
Yes, that is life!

Ruthfirst Ayande