Blue sky, white clouds
Like cotton pillows
Then, there's the breeze tickling the green trees
The coconuts Like maidens,
Lovely branches like coiffures-
Heavy seeds for breasts
Swaying thin hips to the breeze.
The green yam tendrils:
yellow-green, young and beautiful
Hanging unto stakes of thin bamboo.
The grasses green, the shrubs 'navy green' with dots of fresh yellow leaves.
The soil: red. No! Deep brown
Darker with the rain
I like to think she is pregnant with rain, life!
The life all things drink of.
The deep brown is her darkened areola in gestation.
The sun brightening it all
Leaves fluttering down the carpet
Joining the others on the floor.
There's me! Scrawling in my book
While watching the breeze
dance in the trees
While it played with my hair!
Me; staring at the spires of trees
On the horizon wondering
if I'll ever see them close.
I notice the masts and the cross
on the faraway cathedral
They're standing out
Sore thumbs on the greeny horizon.
Yes, there I am, saving every memory
Staring rather dreamily
From the window in the library
To the spectator, I'm studying
The histopathology note
sprawled before me.
I know better,
I'm daydreaming at noon!
YOU ARE READING
Drums and sands
Poésielife through the eyes of an African child. Her transformations, her visions. Those things we can never 'unlive', sights we can't 'unsee', those things make us alive; US!
