The Road goes ever on and on

Down from the door where it began.

Now far ahead the Road has gone,

And I must follow, if I can,

Pursuing it with eager feet,

Until it joins some larger way

Where many paths and errands meet,

And whither then? I cannot say.

Set the alarm
Lock the doors
Lock the windows
Lock the shutters
Find the cricket bat – “put it by your bed”
Say goodnight to mom and dad

Although young, not naïve
I knew every night had the possibility of being my last

A routine that is now muscle memory.

Fear –
You may think
But life –
Normal for me.

Wake up
Turn off the alarm
Unlock the doors
Open the windows
Open the shutters
Put the cricket bat in the cupboard

Never being able to be left alone at home. Unwillingly dragged from store to store.

But – that’s the thing –
People don’t know the real Her,
They know the exquisite scenery, the unforgettable wildlife
They don’t know… But I do.
Because She is my home
Because being in constant fear for my life –
is normal.

Confused –
What do I tell people about Mother when they ask?
The person who raised me, taught me how to be grateful, how to ride a bike,         how to love.
Do I tell them? Will I scare them?

Although hidden beneath the tyranny – I would say –
the bloodshed
the faces of malnourished children left for dead on the side of the road the poverty struck soil the corruption      the greed the hunger the death the separation of class and race

Although a place feared –
Africa.

My Africa –
Whose sunshine you feel ignited in your soul
My Africa –
Whose smile is irresistibly contagious
My Africa –
Whose heart lies in the grassy terrain
The golden dunes of sand
The never-ending mountain tops
My Africa –
Who is the heart of various people
           cultures
   languages
          All who call Her home.
She is –
Where my heart lies even if I am thousands of miles away
Where my mind wanders from day to day.

Her air, instantly calls you
Her smell, instantly smelt
Welcoming you ever so dearly –
      Home.

Like all good mothers,
She is the one who can handle both the tranquil and turmoil,
the love and war.

She is my home. She is who I fear of disappointing.

My Africa –
is beautiful.

They will tell you
All poetry has been written
There is nothing new
Under the moon
But let me tell you
They don’t know you
You are as unique
As the DNA that exists
Within your frame
The ripples on your thumbprint
No one ever had the same.

Listen...

You have something to say
Say it proudly
Say it boldly
Never let them scold you.

Never let them make you go away.

i am an artist
silversmith of masterpieces
worn out scratches
of pencil lead and inked out memories
the fire on the candle
burns, lighting up my head
and guiding me to a crisp,
blank page
my heavy breath, my heavy heart
blows it out in dark puffs of steam
the smoke is singing!
i’ve lost the light and brought my soul back home

In dreams
I am the rhythm
to the dancer
underneath her skin
In dreams
I only fight
in the river of remembrance
in her breathing
In dreams
imagining my woman
nervous, scowling
reaching for my hand
In dreams
fighting to stay
in silver clouds
above this land
In dreams
reimagining oceans
beyond this land
and endless drone
In dreams
talking backwards
riding rail lines
back to my home

When you go chase after your truest desires
and feel places where there wasn't a fire before burning,
In a rage of passion,
as hot as the sun and the stars,
as bright as dawn,
and the night doesn't symbolize
sadness and depression anymore ,
and the moon isn't loneliness,
and the stars aren't laughing at me,
from above
the place they rest,

And like that
begin to transform the magic
you emit
into a breath of my soul,

breathing again,
water becomes oxygen,
i'm not drowning
in the depths of myself
Anymore.

Thanks to you,
My Love.