A faulty start, I lost all my stars
Personally, I became a recluse
Truly afraid to be abuse.
Envious of some solemn luck,
            In love, I am an ugly duck.
I **** in many ways,
seems no one is able to stay.
                     Its okay.
Just pretend, as you did not hear
            Do not count me, as I am not here.
   Moreover, hide as if I did not know your there.
So do not love me as if you needed me
       Just love me sincerely
       Or else better don’t
       I am better alone - anyways….

Dreams of My African King

In the quiet hours of night, my African king visits me. His presence, both vivid and elusive, dances across the tapestry of my dreams. We spar—our voices colliding over the phone, tangled in passion and discord. His white t-shirt clings to memory, a canvas for whispered secrets and unspoken truths.

Laundry day becomes sacred—an intimate ritual. He separates his clothing, each fold a promise etched into fabric. I, too, remember the days when I stumbled over his name, syllables tripping like hesitant birds. A thousand rehearsals, yet he corrected me gently, unraveling my mispronunciations with patience.

How much more can I love him? Love, unquantifiable, spills beyond boundaries. It echoes in the cooing of doves—their soft wings carrying messages between realms. To love is to risk—the precipice where self dissolves, and soulmates emerge.

He visits me, not only in dreams but also in waking life. I glimpse him on bustling streets, in the hum of subway cars, and within the ink of my poems. Our souls, celestial magnets, draw close. We need each other—an equation of hearts seeking equilibrium.

I am a believer in God’s design. He weaves our paths, stitches constellations into existence. My king, once stronger, faced battles that scarred his spirit. Yet God’s promises remain—our shared destiny etched in stardust.

Me ma wo akye—may your eyes witness miracles. In the quietude of night, may your African king’s silhouette linger, a beacon across the vast expanse of longing.

Psalm 90:6
in the morning it springs up new, but by evening it fades and withers.


When my heart returns in the seclusion,

I uttered these words to myself,

Give it time, be wise, embrace self-compassion

I must put myself first, I must, I must,  

This time around, I don't want to walk away,

Taste only me, make love to only me
Reflected only in my space.
enchantment leads to my dearest delight
enter my soul before the break of dawn

A dream within a dream according to Edgar Allan Poe

For our morning blessing/
Happy or sad, our morning salutations/
There is nothing more appealing  
Than seeing white undershirts and white teeth
as it captures the youth of innocent,  
falling in love, with a cub, half my age,  

A trickery of unfocused emotions bearing down.  


I can see no flaws,  
I see only what my heart allows,

Trembling lips, both top and bottom
gazing into those eyes of witchery illusions

Just this once, just feed me, just enter my soul  

This frigid northern cold, the Africa heat rises:
Who will bless this union?
When it all fades like leaf

All of us have become like one who is unclean, and all our righteous acts are like filthy rags; we all shrivel up like a leaf, and like the wind our sins sweep us away.

Let me love you for now,

Let me smile, while you smile,

aloud me, to accept you,

as you enter my soul

When you're young and have something to prove.

When you become invisible.

When cynicism and paranoia eat your Soul.

When your grip on Earth isn't that tight.

When understanding dispels fear.

When no amount of influence can force a person to listen
if they have their mind made up.

When my brother or me will die and neither of us will know it.

When it seems like their only objective is to make you feel
like **** about yourself.

When we emulate our parents.

When we don't respect what we don't understand.

When we lose our patience and humility.

When we say we've let go of a grudge we haven't.

When we find God, lose Him and find Him again.

When we do wrong and can't get rid of it all.

When love magnetizes us and there is a ***** of hope.

When even facts are a matter of perception.

When poetry can set your heart free.


Sara Fielder © Nov 2023

The power went off
The street was dark and quiet
One single star shines.