Can you remember this time of last year?

Can you recall how your voice rose like the music of a pestle on Yandeh’s mortar?
When we were as beings, you were counting your wealth:
‘My son,
I have twenty shells;
Five ladies by my ribs;
Twenty siblings from my cages,
All men, and the rest, seven, with braids awaiting drones;
Five plantations dine under my notch,
Fenced with a hundred laborers;
I don’t know how many heads of cattle? Ha…ha…ha!
Oh my son! You’ve seen. They are all mine.
Even the country is mine.’

Can you remember?
I wonder whether that strength is there with you now
To explain how you attained all those wealth;
And how managerial the termite-eaten brain will help you regain all now.

But remember that in life, one must be heedful that riches are never static;
They come in whatever way you opt to attain them,
But when time comes, time takes its turn
And that wealth spills into the sandy soil.

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