FALSE STARS

At my age 30 and nine a star
appeared
on my horizon
with a human face

it looked just like me!

definitely
we
rhymed. And we danced
together at the village green where
prettified things were said
by the talking drums

at my rife age
of eight and 40, the talking
drums struggle with different tunes
jarring to the soul

the star has darkened
besmirched by lies foretold, told, retold
the side of its mouth broken
like some outdated record
face wizened albeit decorous

no longer human or humane
but monstrous
like Medusa

it can't look like me!

yet on my tired horizon
again
a new dawn is blazing
(of light or raging inferno?)
yolky, leeringly promising

beckoning...
like a paedophile luring
the sub-teen

reassuring me
that things will now be ok
vowing to look just like me

should I bolt from
Medusa
or cling to hope as I did
eight agonising seasons ago
that my drink is here at last

and be petrified finally
for ever and ever
lost
unsaved?

IBRAHIM SHEME