My hands search the Sun -
Your hands reclaim the Oceans.
My feet flee fear -
Your feet finds freedom.
My eyes pursue intricate; marble sculptures in ruin on the eighth floor
Your eyes a fluttering motion of wonder; belonging to all.
My tongue so wants to serenade your soul to sleep, though I cannot sing very well; so sometimes I try to make words dance for you-
Your tongue! mellifluous, soft eloquence whispered, like the hymn of the wind, and intricate - too fractured in places; ineffable. (I will wait)
Four parts of the body, which
Most people have -
Surrendering self-consciousness of by-standing witnesses,
I am waiting for these four parts of you
To teach, tender and passionate.
Being is not singular, nor hateful in permanence,
Much to the dismay of popular press -
It is not only a face with some red patches,
A chipped tooth or non-proportional nose.
It is not past misgivings, even if you have repented when they were cruel.
It is not false pretensions, for we see the sadness in your bones.
It is not even wealth, the fabric wrapped around your ribs
It is not ecstasy and it is not sorrow and it is not black despair.
Humility taught through serendipity - sly salvaging of strength.
Glorious gains, grateful for hindsight now placing a delicate kiss on the forehead of foresight.
And doesn't this help us to repair?
I know we are only mortals.
And you know now I am waiting for you, fellow being.