Stolen light – Chimanimani

Up there in the land of my mother’s ancestors
Stand the imposing, mighty, Chimanimani mountains
Their summit wearing a crown of thick grey mist

On that summit sits some jagged dull rocks
Year in, year out, squatting under the mist’s shadow
With no single hope of seeing their own shadows

One feels compassion, feels like making a prayer
For, how can such innocent pieces of creation
Spend a whole life without sight of their own shadow?

But, how can one make a plea with their creator 
When shadows are just but stolen light ?
When shadows are just but denied light?

But, shall one just stand aside and watch
While the mist robs the rocks of their light?
While the mist blankets them with its own shadow?