The
Rose of Dawn
I am not a poet,

I am not a poet but I wake up early in the morning
Just to listen to the sound of the birds outside my window
While my thought turns to you,
with images of a naughty school girl
I drop down my ideas here and there
I hope of releasing my inspirational thoughts without giving up
My entire self-worth or lower my self-esteem
With each tweets the birdies makes,
It reminds me that anyone can be a poet,
Which each sipped of coffee that slowly touch my lips
I can actually feel the adrenaline surging through my body
Word, words, ideas, idea, this sense of rush
My entire self-worth, my self-esteem, perseverance”
Always reflects back to my naughty school girl experiences

Then I remember why I am not poet, because
my words are considered to be a deadly weapon
like the relentless heat of the desert.
Inducted to be worst summertime madness
Even for a poet.

Three thousand times
I felt the weight of the world
  Sinking me into the floor,
I Embrace Your Failures!
Draw Strength
Each and every single moment
I  often took sneak peaks at your underwear,
and
Laugh out loud sometimes
squirmed  
Against Your brutal body odors

  I stood firm with my legs on the floor
No more! No more!
I am just an old worn out chair.

When I go back to the Island
and my old friends said that they miss me
I miss me too,
the old me,
The one who had the futuristic ideas
the girl with
the ***** locks braids which is
so happy and natural like the
land
the same girl with the ashy feet,
the one who work the land with her bare hands

I was like a woman land army,
wild and carefree
the same girl who  use her teeth to peel
out the hard skin and bite into the inner part of
the sugarcane and chew it.

who planted Roses, Morning Glories
with a smile
The one who loaded sharp blades sugarcanes
on to the high trucks
in the relentless hot sun
or frigid rain
with aches and pain
and drank water from the pitchers
until the sun go down;

Somehow, that girl survive those hard days
Even when she dance until dawn to the
sweet sound of the reggae beat
and the oldies Goldie's tunes

The one who woke up early to catch the 5:20 am bus
to travel miles to work in
Wildleys for minimum wages.

So when I go back to the islands
And my old friends say they miss me
Old friends brings all of the memories
back into the present state of mind
for a woman who is growing old

Better to remain silent and be thought a fool
Than to speak out and remove all doubt.”

― Abraham Lincoln
……………………..
Conversation with older folks always
Makes us think about
How complex we are
When asked 80 to 90 percent of older people
How are they doing?
Most replies are the same
“Child I am just waiting.
Waiting!
For what
To meet my maker”
From the time we were born
Plans were made for us
About our life
What are you going to be?
When we grow up
And soon has one become an adult
Our thoughts about dying
Frighten us
You are born then you die
Life might be simple for some
However, it a race to
get over unfairness of life

I met my third grade teacher last year
The first thing she said to me
“Did you follow your dreams?
A moment in an instant world
I felt like she were in control
^
She is much older now
However, nothing has change
We born, then we die
No matter how hard we try
The ropes never seem to loosen