The smile you have
Is the 8th color of the rainbow;
The main essence of the rain!

The smile you have
Is  the patterns on the peacock;
The defination of grace and reign!

The Smile you have
Is the music in the waterfall;
The Majesty and grace of its name!

The smile You have
Can heal a broken heart;
Soft and silky like a lions royal mane!

The Smile you have 
To me is treasure at sea
I shall set sail to famous glory and fame!

If I was asked to write a story
I will write about hope
For the little she child
Germinating like weeds in the streets.

Pivoting a tray on frail neck.
Hawking fruits while books lay dormant.

Look at Her!
Lemons sprouts abruptly:
Buns smeared with oils of lust.
The she child: An object of *******.

Forced out of secure fences
By the fierce fire of hunger and starvation.

Mummy told her not to talk to strangers
But to strangers she must sell
Out of sight and out of cover
She was pounced on and devoured!

Another maiden is bleeding red tears.
A child becomes a mother!

Even if I had a mandate to write
On clean placards for all to see In white.
I wont waste my ink and sheets
For this generation does not read nor see.

I would liken you
To a night without stars
Were it not for your eyes.
I would liken you
To a sleep without dreams
Were it not for your songs.

there on the scaffold
          colorful cacophonous screams emanating from workman’s coveralls  
           captivated her
           rebel in real life



engaged by her lack of hero worship    dedication to her art     the common cause
            her fire drew him to her

and so they began to weave their tapestry

it tells a story
tumultuous
traveled
torn
tragic
timeless
true

brilliant hues
life
as art
compatriots
rebels
lovers
newsreels  
public pride
personal degradation
recovery
reconciliation

back on the scaffold
             cacophony revisited

back on bedrest
              resilient resisting unceasing unaccepting


scaffold and ego deemed titanic-like         demand artistic license  uncompromising
                     crushed   crumble  disintegrate  
               lose face    credibility

turn tale
and run to the one deemed feeble
whose
spirit knows no bonds                        
      as body knows no freedom

yet
is Hercules for them both

until
the day her plaits were drawn crisscross on her forehead
decorated with huge glorious blossoms
      plucked from the patio

lips kissed

last breath

a pair destined for the history books


a love
            rollercoasterlargerthanlife




FateD?


  










Frida & Diego: FateD?    

© 2017 rochelle foles