Life, what a circus?
Unknown to us, we faithfully queue
For the next available seat
It is a long queue but no one has a choice
So we stand and watch the Grim Reaper have his day
Sometimes He is at the front
Sometimes at the back
Sometimes He is in popular spots
And headlines are made
Sometimes in unknown locations
He passes unnoticed
But every day He calls
A seat is empty here!
Who is next?!
The tremor is too deep
To go unnoticed
For no one knows what’s inside
The huge tent that has stood since time
Pitch black, no glimpse
No one knows the Performer
Deadly silent, no echos from within
No one knows what happens
When that show is over
And the Grim Reaper cannot call again
And of the day, He will have no one to call
But for now, there is an empty seat
Who is next?
Written on the passing of poet, writer, politician and the poet's maternal grandfather Rashaka Ratshitanga (PBUH)
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