THE HORSE STORY

The green fields and the blue sky,
Smell of hay and gallops and runs,
The sweet air I breathe,
And stories my mother told,
About masters she met,
And friends she made and love,
Were the young days I spent,
To make me strong and bold.

Awaiting the arrival of the day,
When I will be taught to carry,
My masters and their mistress,
Taught me the patience I need,
And one day the ironsmith came,
And those shoes of iron,
Black tough and gray,
Was nailed into my soft flesh,
I limped then ran and galloped,
Higher and higher in air.

The stable was the place I spent my days,
But one day I was taken to an open field,
Saddled I was with a hard seat,
And a leather rope cutting my lips,
And a leather on one side of my both eyes,
And my master with light strokes,
Lighting and guiding my path.
I was taught to control the joy,
And mask the murk of sadness,
And taught to behave like a man,
Strong bold and gentle.

And smoothly but steadily,
I carried the madames on my back,
How gentle was their hold,
And how light, like feather were they.
But for harder days my creation was,
And soon I was bought or sold,
The pain of the heavy carriage I drag,
Doubled the pain of my mother’s separation,
And I kicked and ran in wilderness,
And ran my way through races I won.

Men spent their money and gained,
And women loved my gait,
The master I was serving then,
Loved and gambled me in every race.
And “goldfinder” was the name I had,
And how I sailed against the time,
People believed that I would never get old.
But age have their ways, they always had.
And farming was I have to do, all day long.
Sweat and labour then made me tired,
And I was left in forest to fend and search,
Search for unanswered curiosity,
Was I born to be a man, or a horse?



11 jan 2005
keshie