POEM: Fine garments, empty chambers

Behold the man whom they call wise,
Yea, the man of polished speech and lifted chin.
His shoes do glisten as the morning star upon the pavement,
And the shine thereof reflecteth the vision he proclaimeth.

His garments are pressed as the linen of princes,
Without crease, without blemish;
His shirt standeth firm with the iron’s discipline,
And his collar speaketh of order and command.

With great swelling words he greeteth the day,
And the names of mighty men falleth from his tongue—
Kings, scholars, captains of high renown.
“Lo, I know them,” saith he,
“And if I would, I could summon them.”

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Yet I say unto thee, my friend:
Knowest thou the place of his rest?
Hast, thou beheld the chamber where he layeth his head by night?

For the bed of the man telleth the truth of the man.

While his shoes shine like the promise of dawn,
His pillow knoweth the dust of pretense.
While his coat standeth proud before the multitude,
His blanket covereth a life not lived.

He walketh in the garments of another man’s story,
And speaketh the language of courts he hath not entered.
His mouth buildeth palaces of air,
Yet his dwelling remaineth but a shadow.

And what profit is there in such a life?
What gain is the crown of borrowed gold?

For verily, the night knoweth the man as he is.
When the lamps are quenched and the voices fade,
No ironed cloth nor shining shoe remaineth to testify.

Only the narrow bed,
And the silent witness of truth.

Therefore, let a man walk in the life that is his own,
Though his shoes be dull and his coat be worn.
For better is the humble garment of truth
Then the splendid robe of a life never lived.

Poet: Elkana Kuhenga
Contact: +255 753 307 040

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