Even the SHADOW SPEAKS

In the poorly lit room
Sat a small artist,
Talking to the elephant, giraffe and lion in the canvas.
His brother was the shining star,
While his animals remained in the dark.

Huddled in the mud,
Crouched a vagabond,
Once an eminent leader,
Now deposed like the broken mast.

Sleeping in the broken hovel
Is a crippled old man,
Made his country independent
With his own flesh and time.

The creator put her soul into the blue jade,
Yet it was destined for its chosen bride.
A wandering saint loved the jade eternally,
But she dwelt in shadows, veiled in her devotion.

And still the shadow sang with a voice
The world couldn't silence.
In the day, in the night,
In the sun, in the gaslight,
The shadow keeps trailing you from behind,
Even in death, clasping you in heart and mind.