Smiling, she sits snugly,
in her old rocking chair.
The worn floorboards, creaking
Like the bones in her back.
The faint light in her eye
Rising, like the morning star, and settingOnly when each meticulous story, has been told.
Her soothing cocoa voice, like akamu, Balmy remedy to my aching soul. Her stately pulled back braids, fixed neat, into a bun.
Just one strand falling loose, onto her glowing face, she spins a tale.
“Tell us a story Mama Tella”, in rehearsed chorus, we cry,“Just one, more story please, Mama Tella”, before we say goodnight.
Then raucous laughter. Splitting the cracks in her face, like an ocean liner, shattering ice.
And a chuckle, escaping from the sides of her mouth, in gigantic,
Bursting bubbles of joy and sound. With a flick of her wrist, a slight twist in her chair, Mouth opens Wide, like a drawbridge let down.
And words, like neatly dressed tin -soldiers, Marching in unison, come, tumbling out.
And as they come marching, they reveal a great treasure chest, long harboured Many- a -Tale in her head.
For grand- Mama Tella, is her marvellous fine name.
And as she knits, each new story... she magnifies, her fame.
You reminded me of what it felt like, to mount upon the wings of my, imaginationAnd to fly... Like an Oriole, set free in the blue sky, your smileLifted me. Flowering hope, took shapeAnd shone, through the stain glass-windows of my heart, depicting Technicolor- joyInfused, with a majestic, sound. The magic of your mind lit a fuse in my thoughts, and the spark, shone so brightThat it illuminated the dark and cryptic codes, hidden messages of my once, forgotten dreams...I can taste it, the sharp twist of the realisation as its infusion of taste, inundates my senses, and Heightens my taste buds for life. Fear No longer, need eclipse my mind. Your word like light, sprouting in the depths of my soul. Opening up buds of vision and, of hungry growth. A certain, magic set free in my eye, as it trips, Over the Glorious sight, of my future. Breathable breeze. And new horizons beckon, because nowMy understanding, has been opened and your star,Has placidly led me to the point, where destiny, crosses her path, with my goals. My being, lifted and warmed. Because hope gaily bounces in my heart, and, Matured Faith has sustained me, through a thorny, and poison –ivy path. In the box of my heart,Hope sprouts wings, fluttering, in busy flightAnd still, going... Let my, wordsFly to you. And kiss you,That you, would ever - feel...Inspired.
Antarctica in my heart
I’ve trodden this path before And the footprints still, lie frozen in my heart. Chilling my dreams, the imagined landscapes, what I hoped - To see, now blown over. Yet, still I can’t help wondering, what’s there beyond all the snow? I see a piece of metal logged in the ice, a broken mirror perhaps, a snapped window? And it shines, like the warmth Of your reflection as it permeates the ice. And so, I nervously look up, and now It’s my frosty stare that’s been broken, Thawing, my feelings of ice... Something-cracks.
Breaking from the curt, cords of your neat office files, black fax machines and paper.Struggling through a splintered stream, of lightly bobbing faces, places brush past me Leaving you, swiftly behind.Reaching to the soft edge, of a boundary barred, boundlessIn its latitude of unfamiliar joy. Travelling now,And touching the iridescent dome, of unrealised weather- beaten dreams, andUn-visualised heavy, cloudedHopes. Breaking form the curt, cords of your, neat offices files,Black fax machinesAnd paper. Tell me, do I Terrify?
Unstable. The atom that rocks, and misses her cradle. And that’s why, she breaks down... To become More stable. Vast amounts of bubbling emotion released. Will her lonely time, fuse with his? She always put more in than she ever could extract from their, Relationship. His charge, was always negative.But now her soul collides, with the possibility of a new equation. And now her mind, has been inspired, by this Formulation. And as a consequence of the experiment, of her love There’d be, a chain- reaction… chain-reaction, chain -reaction Into, his heart.
One day they fell. Still clinging to the hope of the clouds from which they’d fallen.
Mama gently taps the sieve with her hand Watching old flour sprinkle and the ugly lumps That didn't filter though. She's grateful, for what did.