dancing in the wind.
seeds
scattered
on a placcid concrete.
who knew ?
who knew ?
that we too
would bloom.
29.7.15
27.7.15
19.7.15
16.7.15
infant understanding.
baby steps.
wide eyed.
lullaby.
woke up to a silver spoon in your mouth.
abstract surrounds
give form to your voice
cradling each coo.
a cradle to each tear.
lies.
formless. unfamiliar. foreign.
Picasso things.
unpunctuated questions
unpunctuated sentence
questions in every sentence
every sentence a question
who was the first man on the moon ?
is God black ?
is God black ?
15.7.15
13.7.15
6.7.15
5.7.15
4.7.15
3.7.15
2.7.15
peanut brittle.
as these gluten-ised nuts now
crackle under the pressure of my full mouth of man teeth,
something
creeps into the deep
reaches slightly into my memory heap
settles.
there in second grade
you see my teacher had coaxed me, unbeknown to herself,
(maybe the little Dexter in me too)
into the heart of our kitchen.
there I am hauling out my favourite grubby old saucepan
sprinkling into it the sugary curiosity of a mere 8 years of
breath
and then neglecting it,
hastily, just like I had come
expectant.
I ran out of the kitchen to go do something
I cannot tell you now as I cannot even recall
probably going to nurse my impatience with something that
would not have me wait so long
going to be the amateur that I was
(wet eyes and wet tongue meet the Sahara)
child,
and as it would go I nearly burnt down our house
I can laugh at it this now
how time makes a fool of age.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)