I have a forest of thoughts, feelings and imaginations,
memories too that I wanted to share with you
you seem to have become a landscape of discreet water falls, mountains, ice caps and oasis,
i carried questions to ask you and awakened my taste buds to explore your flavours
i had neither the language nor the courage.
we danced and smoked instead.
Some truths are too real, too coarse and unpalatable for society to take.
They require wrapping and sandwiching so they do not burn the throat or scratch the roof of the mouth.
Your confidence in self and the beauty of your being is a war cry, too terrifying, too loud for most ears.
My dear this world wants you dressed in apologies and to quietly crawl your way through life.
The words and ideas you birth are too hard and heavy.
Child, this world wants those utterances that are tenderized and worn weightless from consideration for oppressors.
Some truths are too disruptive for this age of selective reality.
I dreamt of you
you lay bleeding
a gold streaked stream of blood
formed and all I thought
of was a sandwich I
once ate in Edinburgh
There’s a tree I know
she sheds all her leaves
(once she even lost all her branches)
it doesn’t mean she’s dead.
She is waiting
sitting within herself
waiting, healing, sleeping
planning, waiting, grieving
waiting, waiting, hoping
believing, waiting, waiting
Time and space have not cured us
they do nothing to quench
Steel mental fingers grip the irrational
logic and reason do not dissuade
Roots digging deeper
wings spreading wider
It is visceral, this love.
Coaxed out of a shell
‘Love will be our home’
Cajoled to dive into the deep
‘Love will bouy us up’
So you crushed your shell and set sail
then, half of ‘us’ flew off
Now you shrivel in the scorching heat
as you drift alone at sea
Here, kindly hold my mind for me.
It keeps wondering into dead lands,
snooping into baren crevices, diving into gorges that dried up a million years ago when the star its searching the night sky for died and it shouts into black holes waiting for an echo with an outstretched ear that last heard the sound of gushing streams as they flowed back up into the brook they bubbled up from while the tree was yet a kernel and the sun a naked child of the galaxies running wild and free and the gods still paced the stellar highways as the worlds waged wars that rent tears in the earth that nile, amazon and ganges flow along.
Here, take my mind and hold it a while.