THE OSTRICHES
I feel surprised how poets can think of
the beauty of a flower or a girl
and don't brood on the essence of this life
that passes like a dream of summer's  night.

How can a man enjoy a petals' charm
when day's like little friends cover his eyes?
He opens them to find himself too old
and scarcely laughs to mock the end of life.

What is the aim of what you live and do?
Is there a purpose which can please your heart?
Or just you help your friends through trivial verse
to keep your eyes blindfolded to the truth.
BY JOSEPH ZENIEH
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED