By Chipanga Daniel
“Not today,”
My dancing master always said,
In the twilight of his years—
Still believing he had more time to live.
He rose with his walking stick,
Hoping to command nature’s pace,
A smile creasing his wrinkled face
As memories of better days flickered behind his eyes.
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When the sun dipped low,
He’d step out to admire God’s brushwork,
Knowing soon he’d surrender to deep rest,
Where darkness would become his quiet friend.
Unaware his hour drew near,
He sang glorious melodies,
Face lifted to the sky—
Counting stars like prayers whispered into night.
Each day and night he numbered,
Like a child learning to count,
And with the faith of fables,
He dreamed of another life beneath the earth.
