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Maathe
27/M/Uganda I am a data scientist who spends his free time buried in a good book or cooking up scenarios to later put on paper in the form of poems.
She was a woman like none I had met before. When she walked, the ground seemed to know her by name. It was as if they had played together as children and walked hand in hand back into her mother’s large green compound. Each step seemed like a conversation, the ground talking back and both of them laughing in their secret language. When I first looked into her eyes, I did not feel like a man I was a mountain towering above the clouds And threatening them for a fight. When I finally spoke to her, I was the 3PM sun Burning the earth with excitement that no one could dare look up at me I knew I could never have her. Not because I did not try But because some people are like sunsets. Their beauty is not one to hold and own like one would a wristwatch. Theirs, is to be experienced, on a rocking chair, eyes closed and the mind left to wander in the dreams that would never come true
0
Apr 29, 2024
Apr 29, 2024 at 11:07 AM UTC
Simuli
When I walked by the little children who played in the field near my old house, they stopped me to ask what changed me. They wondered what took the light out of my eyes because now I half smiled when I met them playing by the palm trees They were curious to know why I now smiled only with my mouth and why my eyes never beamed with light each time I met them like I always did. They wanted to know why I now walk with my head down and arms behind my back like an old widower yet I had no wife nor children of my own. They wanted to know why I was balding and had the lines on my forehead. Deep lines like those of their grandfather. Most of all, they wanted to know why I now talk to myself a lot like a madman. I doubt they would understand if I told them I was my own best friend. So, I gave them half a smile with my lips and walked on because I did not want to be tormented by the innocence of their childhood. When I went to church, the usher asked what was wrong with me. She wanted to know why I now sat in the backseat and not in my usual front seat that directly faced the pulpit. She was curious to know why I no longer sang my heart out during mass like I used to and instead folded my arms across my chest and simply hummed each song like a mute person. She was worried about how I swayed from side to side like a dying tree in the wind when the piano played. She wondered why I was always the first person out of the church when the priest said “Go in peace, the mass is ended” I could only shrug my shoulders and give a deep sigh because she would not get it. It would have been like feeding a whale to a crocodile. For how could she understand if I told her that I no longer felt the presence of God. That maybe God was tending to sheep and not listening to me when I prayed or sang his praises. For sheep, unlike humans, were simple creatures with no emotions, no laughter, no unending demands and no tears. All they need is grass and a staff to direct them to the next green pasture. So, I left her at the church entrance and sat quietly at the back seat Where I was immune to her critical stare and overly joyful personality. Joy I never felt even when in the house of God, my omniscient father. When I went to gatherings, everyone wondered what was wrong with me. They all wondered why I always showed up alone unlike my age mates who always came with their wives and their little fat children Or nicely shaped young women with perfect teeth. They wanted to know why I hadn't found myself a nice young woman to marry One who will iron my shirts on a Sunday night, serve me luwombo to fatten my sunken cheeks and make me laugh For I looked like a man who hadn’t laughed in weeks. They believed that the sadness on my skin could be exterminated by the gentle touch of a woman. They were curious to know why I danced like that when the music played. With my body off tune like a man fighting against the sinking tide of quicksand. But, I shrugged my shoulders at their perennial complaints and dusted my mind of their demands the same way i always slapped the dust off my trousers after a long boda boda ride. For they would not understand the weight I carried on my shoulders nor the worries that drowned my mind. Love, for me, was a luxury. I had long made peace with the fact that I would walk to the barbecue and only smell the aroma. If love was to find me, she would have to look for me and knock on my door, and hope that I am home.
0
Mar 17, 2024
Mar 17, 2024 at 9:35 AM UTC
What Changed Me
When I walked by the little children who played in the field near my old house, they stopped me to ask what changed me. They wondered what took the light out of my eyes because now I half smiled when I met them playing by the palm trees They were curious to know why I now smiled only with my mouth and why my eyes never beamed with light each time I met them like I always did. They wanted to know why I now walk with my head down and arms behind my back like an old widower yet I had no wife nor children of my own. They wanted to know why I was balding and had the lines on my forehead. Deep lines like those of their grandfather. Most of all, they wanted to know why I now talk to myself a lot like a madman. I doubt they would understand if I told them I was my own best friend. So, I gave them half a smile with my lips and walked on because I did not want to be tormented by the innocence of their childhood. When I went to church, the usher asked what was wrong with me. She wanted to know why I now sat in the backseat and not in my usual front seat that directly faced the pulpit. She was curious to know why I no longer sang my heart out during mass like I used to and instead folded my arms across my chest and simply hummed each song like a mute person. She was worried about how I swayed from side to side like a dying tree in the wind when the piano played. She wondered why I was always the first person out of the church when the priest said “Go in peace, the mass is ended” I could only shrug my shoulders and give a deep sigh because she would not get it. It would have been like feeding a whale to a crocodile. For how could she understand if I told her that I no longer felt the presence of God. That maybe God was tending to sheep and not listening to me when I prayed or sang his praises. For sheep, unlike humans, were simple creatures with no emotions, no laughter, no unending demands and no tears. All they need is grass and a staff to direct them to the next green pasture. So, I left her at the church entrance and sat quietly at the back seat Where I was immune to her critical stare and overly joyful personality. Joy I never felt even when in the house of God, my omniscient father. When I went to gatherings, everyone wondered what was wrong with me. They all wondered why I always showed up alone unlike my age mates who always came with their wives and their little fat children Or nicely shaped young women with perfect teeth. They wanted to know why I hadn't found myself a nice young woman to marry One who will iron my shirts on a Sunday night, serve me luwombo to fatten my sunken cheeks and make me laugh For I looked like a man who hadn’t laughed in weeks. They believed that the sadness on my skin could be exterminated by the gentle touch of a woman. They were curious to know why I danced like that when the music played. With my body off tune like a man fighting against the sinking tide of quicksand. But, I shrugged my shoulders at their perennial complaints and dusted my mind of their demands the same way i always slapped the dust off my trousers after a long boda boda ride. For they would not understand the weight I carried on my shoulders nor the worries that drowned my mind. Love, for me, was a luxury. I had long made peace with the fact that I would walk to the barbecue and only smell the aroma. If love was to find me, she would have to look for me and knock on my door, and hope that I am home.
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36
On the night when the world fell silent and the stars crept behind the dark clouds in fear, I waited for you. It had been long since I had listened to your voice the alto that calmed my storm and brought down the tide. To my ears, your voice is a sound that envelops my body and wraps around me like a jasmine, never letting go. But to my spirit, it is a sweet gentle whisper that commands me to be still. There, in my old brown couch, I lay down, counting down each second as I waited for your face to appear on the other end of the line. Will she show up? Are we going to postpone this again like the ones in the past? I wondered. I did not want to spend another cold night alone without seeing your radiant face. Nor did I want to dream happy dreams without seeing your smile in them. For your smile is the fire that lights the wet wood on a rainy day so that you can warm your hands and then sit back and listen to Alicia Keys while drinking your favorite gin because you do not drink beer anymore. And so, I continued to wait, holding my breath in like a leopard in the tall grass that watches and waits as the antelope grazes a few meters away. When the clock struck midnight, you appeared like lightning on a scorching hot afternoon Your eyes, a bowl of sleep, like a child who had spent the entire day playing hide and seek in the neighbor's garden. You laughed your usual laughter that shakes the curtains of your house like the mid morning wind throwing your head back in your true signature fashion. Despite the time of night, your beauty still stood out like a giant cross on a cathedral and all I could do then, was bow down in worship. When you finally spoke, I knew then why I fell in love with you in the first place. And I understood why I could let no other man have you.
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May 4, 2023
May 4, 2023 at 4:41 AM UTC
A bowl of sleep
On the night when the world fell silent and the stars crept behind the dark clouds in fear, I waited for you. It had been long since I had listened to your voice the alto that calmed my storm and brought down the tide. To my ears, your voice is a sound that envelops my body and wraps around me like a jasmine, never letting go. But to my spirit, it is a sweet gentle whisper that commands me to be still. There, in my old brown couch, I lay down, counting down each second as I waited for your face to appear on the other end of the line. Will she show up? Are we going to postpone this again like the ones in the past? I wondered. I did not want to spend another cold night alone without seeing your radiant face. Nor did I want to dream happy dreams without seeing your smile in them. For your smile is the fire that lights the wet wood on a rainy day so that you can warm your hands and then sit back and listen to Alicia Keys while drinking your favorite gin because you do not drink beer anymore. And so, I continued to wait, holding my breath in like a leopard in the tall grass that watches and waits as the antelope grazes a few meters away. When the clock struck midnight, you appeared like lightning on a scorching hot afternoon Your eyes, a bowl of sleep, like a child who had spent the entire day playing hide and seek in the neighbor's garden. You laughed your usual laughter that shakes the curtains of your house like the mid morning wind throwing your head back in your true signature fashion. Despite the time of night, your beauty still stood out like a giant cross on a cathedral and all I could do then, was bow down in worship. When you finally spoke, I knew then why I fell in love with you in the first place. And I understood why I could let no other man have you.
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21
He lost his mother when he was five. His little brother was two. His father remarried five weeks later but he was no longer his father. He was just a man he lived with in the same house. A shadow, always hovering over the entire house with darkness Filling even the spoons with melancholy. No words were ever spoken between the two. Perhaps because he looked like his mother. Mostly, he had his mother's smile and he believes that is what made his father angry each time he looked at him. His father never tickled him like other men did their young sons. Nor did his father throw him up in the air like their neighbor Banda did with his boy. He always thought that maybe his father hated him. But, it is his smile that his father did not want to see.  Because it reminded him of death, his wife's death. And he chose to keep things that way. Dead. His little brother died just after turning five. He does not know what killed him. Back then, anything could **** a child. Even the shadow of an angry father. For it's cold wind would wrap around you and you would feel your heart go cold until the beat stopped  Like the night drums at the village square. He was only eight then and that is when he left home. Home was no longer a place of comfort. Home was a grave in which he lived, fearing that one day, someone would throw soil or a flower down at him and bid him adieu And he would be forgotten like his mother and little brother whose names no one even bothered to whisper. He never wanted to be forgotten. He wanted his name to mean something. He too, wanted some one to look at his smile and lose their breath. He wanted someone to hug him and hold him tight for the first time. Most importantly, he wanted people to remember his name. And so, he ran away.  Never looking back to see how his home looked like. Today, he waits in the locker room Slowly wrapping the band-aid around his hand.  Four times around his wrist, four times around his knuckles, through his fingers, twice around his knuckles again and finally twice around his wrists. He does this as he nods to "Many Men" playing in the background A song that has been his anthem since he ran away from home Each word from the song tattooed on the walls of his blood vessels. A blood covenant to remind him of his dark past and the hope of a future filled with sunshine. He is a fighter now and today, he takes on the reigning champion. The one who just left jail after battering his wife. His journey to this moment has been uphill. Like Atlas, he has always carried his world on his shoulders  Never putting the burden down for only he understands the pain of the weight. But he wants his punches today to mean something to cause immeasurable pain to his opponent and maybe break his jaw partly as retribution for his opponent's wife. He takes three deep breaths as he hears his name being called out in the arena A sign that the hour has come. Unlike his previous fights, tonight he walks out to the ring in silence Listening to no music but the shrill cries of the ghosts from his dark past Confident that they will all fall silent in the fifth round when his opponent hits the canvas.
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Apr 20, 2023
Apr 20, 2023 at 7:52 AM UTC
Five Rounds
He lost his mother when he was five. His little brother was two. His father remarried five weeks later but he was no longer his father. He was just a man he lived with in the same house. A shadow, always hovering over the entire house with darkness Filling even the spoons with melancholy. No words were ever spoken between the two. Perhaps because he looked like his mother. Mostly, he had his mother's smile and he believes that is what made his father angry each time he looked at him. His father never tickled him like other men did their young sons. Nor did his father throw him up in the air like their neighbor Banda did with his boy. He always thought that maybe his father hated him. But, it is his smile that his father did not want to see.  Because it reminded him of death, his wife's death. And he chose to keep things that way. Dead. His little brother died just after turning five. He does not know what killed him. Back then, anything could **** a child. Even the shadow of an angry father. For it's cold wind would wrap around you and you would feel your heart go cold until the beat stopped  Like the night drums at the village square. He was only eight then and that is when he left home. Home was no longer a place of comfort. Home was a grave in which he lived, fearing that one day, someone would throw soil or a flower down at him and bid him adieu And he would be forgotten like his mother and little brother whose names no one even bothered to whisper. He never wanted to be forgotten. He wanted his name to mean something. He too, wanted some one to look at his smile and lose their breath. He wanted someone to hug him and hold him tight for the first time. Most importantly, he wanted people to remember his name. And so, he ran away.  Never looking back to see how his home looked like. Today, he waits in the locker room Slowly wrapping the band-aid around his hand.  Four times around his wrist, four times around his knuckles, through his fingers, twice around his knuckles again and finally twice around his wrists. He does this as he nods to "Many Men" playing in the background A song that has been his anthem since he ran away from home Each word from the song tattooed on the walls of his blood vessels. A blood covenant to remind him of his dark past and the hope of a future filled with sunshine. He is a fighter now and today, he takes on the reigning champion. The one who just left jail after battering his wife. His journey to this moment has been uphill. Like Atlas, he has always carried his world on his shoulders  Never putting the burden down for only he understands the pain of the weight. But he wants his punches today to mean something to cause immeasurable pain to his opponent and maybe break his jaw partly as retribution for his opponent's wife. He takes three deep breaths as he hears his name being called out in the arena A sign that the hour has come. Unlike his previous fights, tonight he walks out to the ring in silence Listening to no music but the shrill cries of the ghosts from his dark past Confident that they will all fall silent in the fifth round when his opponent hits the canvas.
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49
There was a time I was angry with God And I wanted to challenge him to a fight I had cried out to him on those dark lonely nights when sleep eluded me but he never answered. He stayed quiet like the darkness. You see, I was tormented and needed his refuge but he stayed silent each time I called. I wondered what kind of God would watch his child crushed down by pillars of heavy concrete and have their skin pecked at by starved vultures but still not interfere. If he was the Almighty, he would surely move a few pieces and the tables would turn. Or, maybe, he would come like a gentle song in a cold wind and the sound would comfort me. But no, he stayed silent like an owl on a lamp post. Slowly, my anger suffocated me and filled me with the rage of a whirlwind And all I wanted to do was punch through his ribs with the force of a King's chariot escaping from the battlefield. Maybe that would shock him out of his daydream and get his attention Plus, I knew he could take it. And so I called him out to the arena the one where I had been crowned the wrestling champion when I was 12. I asked him to step out of the shadows in the sky if he indeed is God But just like before, he remained silent As he always was when I made love to my lover in the violent rains of April. I screamed his name again, this time calling him Jehovah. Thinking that his insolence was because he might be picky with names And, just like before, he did not come. Finally, I stared up at the sky, straight into the sun because I wanted to show him that I was a more than a man now And the sun did not scare me I believed that maybe if I stared long enough, he would blink And reveal himself behind the sun. I shouted out to him and beat my chest five times like an angry ape. Remembering how Jacob had once wrestled him from dusk till dawn and did not relent So I thought that I too, stood a chance. This time, I wanted to be the one to break his hip And make an eternal name for myself But God did not show up. Only He knows why. ©Maathe
0
Mar 20, 2023
Mar 20, 2023 at 6:33 AM UTC
Dejection
There was a time I was angry with God And I wanted to challenge him to a fight I had cried out to him on those dark lonely nights when sleep eluded me but he never answered. He stayed quiet like the darkness. You see, I was tormented and needed his refuge but he stayed silent each time I called. I wondered what kind of God would watch his child crushed down by pillars of heavy concrete and have their skin pecked at by starved vultures but still not interfere. If he was the Almighty, he would surely move a few pieces and the tables would turn. Or, maybe, he would come like a gentle song in a cold wind and the sound would comfort me. But no, he stayed silent like an owl on a lamp post. Slowly, my anger suffocated me and filled me with the rage of a whirlwind And all I wanted to do was punch through his ribs with the force of a King's chariot escaping from the battlefield. Maybe that would shock him out of his daydream and get his attention Plus, I knew he could take it. And so I called him out to the arena the one where I had been crowned the wrestling champion when I was 12. I asked him to step out of the shadows in the sky if he indeed is God But just like before, he remained silent As he always was when I made love to my lover in the violent rains of April. I screamed his name again, this time calling him Jehovah. Thinking that his insolence was because he might be picky with names And, just like before, he did not come. Finally, I stared up at the sky, straight into the sun because I wanted to show him that I was a more than a man now And the sun did not scare me I believed that maybe if I stared long enough, he would blink And reveal himself behind the sun. I shouted out to him and beat my chest five times like an angry ape. Remembering how Jacob had once wrestled him from dusk till dawn and did not relent So I thought that I too, stood a chance. This time, I wanted to be the one to break his hip And make an eternal name for myself But God did not show up. Only He knows why. ©Maathe
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37
When the canvas of my life was dimly lit, You took the brush and painted the sun and now I wake up to the orchestra of birds,  the scent of freshly cut flowers  and my eyes drown in the beauty of lilies.  Your beauty made a slave of me.  I am chained to the sound of your voice,  a sing song that grips the valves of my heart  and let's the melody flow through my veins  till my entire body vibrates to each beat. Next to you, my spirit lay still in the grass Only floating to the rhythm of the midnight wind. Your words formed the voice that spoke over my bones And hardened the skin on my feet  so I could stamp the earth into submission And the trees on the mountain top could bow and chant your name. For you were blessed by He who moves with the cloud. You were the chosen one, the answered prayer. I am going to be yours, and you, mine, even if the elders curse Or threaten to burn us down with the fire of lightning. I want to look into your old eyes and smile with my toothless gums when you wear your first pair of dentures. Ready to smile for me once more with the same radiance as when we first met. And when the time comes, I hope we can sleep in each other's embrace And hear ourselves snore one last time before we hear the angels sing our names. © Maathe
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Nov 21, 2022
Nov 21, 2022 at 2:12 PM UTC
Even In The After Life
In a far away land where the winds blew incessantly and the sun was awkward with shyness, I longed for my lover. The one whose voice is softer than the cold winds at mid night. For when she sang, even the birds awoke in their nests Delighted with glee at how the song breezed through their feathers. When she smiled, the moon always went dark with envy For then, no one would call it fair. And when she walked, the night froze with jealousy For then, nothing was more graceful. My skin longed for her gentle touch in the cold nights. I longed for how her hands with the long fingers Ran across my skin like an old musician plucking immaculately at the harp. Most of all, I longed for her. Her presence was like the evening sun Beneath which you could sit on your old rocking chair and watch the orange disappear into the horizon. Her stories breathed new life into you And for a while, you forgot how difficult it was to be a man. A man who had to have a constant plan. With her, the lines on your old forehead melted away when she told you funny stories from her childhood. And your heart beat youthful blood into your veins. I wondered if I would find her the same. If she would still dance with her head swinging from side to side as if to challenge the wind. I wondered if she would laugh that loud laughter That shook the walls from their lifeless slumber. I wondered if she would still look at me with those dancing eyes And let me hold her hand as I lead her into the dark night To dance beneath the stars. © Maathe
0
Nov 13, 2022
Nov 13, 2022 at 3:05 PM UTC
Loneliness
In a far away land where the winds blew incessantly and the sun was awkward with shyness, I longed for my lover. The one whose voice is softer than the cold winds at mid night. For when she sang, even the birds awoke in their nests Delighted with glee at how the song breezed through their feathers. When she smiled, the moon always went dark with envy For then, no one would call it fair. And when she walked, the night froze with jealousy For then, nothing was more graceful. My skin longed for her gentle touch in the cold nights. I longed for how her hands with the long fingers Ran across my skin like an old musician plucking immaculately at the harp. Most of all, I longed for her. Her presence was like the evening sun Beneath which you could sit on your old rocking chair and watch the orange disappear into the horizon. Her stories breathed new life into you And for a while, you forgot how difficult it was to be a man. A man who had to have a constant plan. With her, the lines on your old forehead melted away when she told you funny stories from her childhood. And your heart beat youthful blood into your veins. I wondered if I would find her the same. If she would still dance with her head swinging from side to side as if to challenge the wind. I wondered if she would laugh that loud laughter That shook the walls from their lifeless slumber. I wondered if she would still look at me with those dancing eyes And let me hold her hand as I lead her into the dark night To dance beneath the stars. © Maathe
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28
On those cold lonely nights when the world was asleep, I spoke to my lover. Her voice, an alto, always calmed my spirit. For when she spoke, I knew for sure, I was home. Her voice was like an opera song quietly playing in the background while you rock the baby to sleep The one with the lady singing her heart out about the first time she smelt a rose. My lover's voice never changed. When she was sad,  Her voice was the cloudy afternoon sky in July The one that made you worried that it would rain Because you had made plans with your friends But, you were still relieved because for once The sun wouldn't burn so brightly on the balding part of your head.  When she was angry, Her voice was the hailstorm that fell with roaring thunder And shook the leaves of the large tree in your compound with fear. But, you were never scared Because, as a child, you danced in the rain And you loved the taste of the stones that fell with it. You enjoyed sliding in the mud as you composed cheeky war songs with your best friend The one whose front teeth had failed to grow back Because he had laughed at the old lady with a crooked back. When she was happy, Ooh! When my lover was happy! Her voice was a choir of angels in a vast auditorium  Blending the different tones into one beautiful melody That raised the hair on your skin and gave you goosebumps even when it was blazing hot outside And for a moment, you were a child again You did not want the music to end  Because you loved the way the beat rhymed with that of your fragile heart. And when you looked into her eyes as she spoke, Her words wove around your body like a cold gentle whisper Wrapping around you so tight as if to say "till death do us part". ©Maathe
0
Nov 5, 2022
Nov 5, 2022 at 1:49 PM UTC
My Lover's Voice
On those cold lonely nights when the world was asleep, I spoke to my lover. Her voice, an alto, always calmed my spirit. For when she spoke, I knew for sure, I was home. Her voice was like an opera song quietly playing in the background while you rock the baby to sleep The one with the lady singing her heart out about the first time she smelt a rose. My lover's voice never changed. When she was sad,  Her voice was the cloudy afternoon sky in July The one that made you worried that it would rain Because you had made plans with your friends But, you were still relieved because for once The sun wouldn't burn so brightly on the balding part of your head.  When she was angry, Her voice was the hailstorm that fell with roaring thunder And shook the leaves of the large tree in your compound with fear. But, you were never scared Because, as a child, you danced in the rain And you loved the taste of the stones that fell with it. You enjoyed sliding in the mud as you composed cheeky war songs with your best friend The one whose front teeth had failed to grow back Because he had laughed at the old lady with a crooked back. When she was happy, Ooh! When my lover was happy! Her voice was a choir of angels in a vast auditorium  Blending the different tones into one beautiful melody That raised the hair on your skin and gave you goosebumps even when it was blazing hot outside And for a moment, you were a child again You did not want the music to end  Because you loved the way the beat rhymed with that of your fragile heart. And when you looked into her eyes as she spoke, Her words wove around your body like a cold gentle whisper Wrapping around you so tight as if to say "till death do us part". ©Maathe
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35
It was the way she looked at me when I first met her Her eyes had a dangerous calmness  They were like the big ocean under the clear blue sky An unending expanse of beauty with the sun dancing playfully on her waves Even the wind blew silently as if to not awake her from her afternoon nap. If Jonah had sailed across, I bet he would have continued to Nineveh. I always wondered what it would feel like to swim across  through the stillness And feel the layers of water caress my skin as I listen to the warmth of the music from her waves. Or what it would feel like to dive into the cradle of her very depth And see the beauty that she held within, hidden safely from the fangs of the outside world. I wanted to see what would make her dance like a mad woman in the market square Or what would rile her and set her off like a whirlwind in the desert. But, i am a shy man and i could not hold her gaze. ©Maathe
0
Jul 21, 2022
Jul 21, 2022 at 3:35 PM UTC
Path To Nineveh
Her voice is like the cold gentle wind that passes when you have been working in the mid morning sun and your lips have dried up from dehydration. She blows against your face and you forget the aches from your lower back and the cracks from your knees when you finally straighten up with the *** on your shoulder. When she speaks, her words are like the first sip of water landing on your cracked tongue A perfect sweetness that electrifies your body and makes you anew. You have heard her speak before but, each time always feels like the first. When she laughs, she just does not ha-ha! Her laughter is like the rain that falls at night when you are tired. Shattering your old iron roof with its might but the loud sound comforts you for you know that you will sleep soundly and dream when you are a bird flying beneath the stars with your wings spread out wide to feel the warmth of the clouds. And when you wake up, you will have cold water to run down your body as you listen to that French song "Belle" The one that played when you had your first dance. You were shy at first But when her hand locked into yours, your spirit calmed like the storm in obedience when Jesus awoke from his slumber in the boat and said "Quiet!" Together, you moved in perfect symphony finally forming one shadow under the dim lights of your front porch until the night fell asleep peacefully with a smile on her wrinkled face for a new love had just been born.
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Jul 19, 2022
Jul 19, 2022 at 3:38 PM UTC
Belle