All the world's a stage, as Shakespeare wrote,
And on this stage, we all must play a part,
From birth to death, we have our acts to tote,
Each one distinct, with its own beating heart.
First, as an infant, helpless and so small,
We mewl and puke in the nurse's embrace,
Then as a schoolboy, trudging to the hall,
With shining face and satchel in its place.
And then we become lovers, full of fire,
Sighing like furnaces, with love so true,
We write our woeful ballads and aspire,
To show our devotion, as lovers do.
As soldiers, full of oaths and beards so grand,
We seek out honor, even in the fray,
Jealous and quick to draw our sword and stand,
In battles fought, where we may meet our day.
Next comes the justice, wise and full of lore,
With a round belly and beard of formal cut,
He wields his power, dispensing justice's score,
And shares his wise saws, with those in a rut.
Then as we age, we become pantaloons,
With slippered feet and spectacles on nose,
Our voices thin, our youthful vigor hewn,
Our childish treble, like a river flows.
And finally, the last scene draws so near,
The curtain falls, and we exit the stage,
Sans everything, we exit with no fear,
Leaving behind, a life lived with great rage.
For all the world's a stage, we play our part,
Each one unique, with its own rhythm and heart.
By Otieno Elvis Gikoi
THE ELO’S POETRY
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