The Sharp Bone
I remember you drifting out of me
Into the hinterland,
Moving around the morivivi,
Its substance pulling you into the greenness,
Then you returned in wilted want of the world
And things between silence and thunder.
The songs of the blue jays
Got louder as we strayed along the rivers.
And of all the things we met,
It was you who wanted much of them.
The sharp bone that pricked my heel
Did not do so before we went there.
We saw the hyacinth bulbs too
& Where cows stepped pink petals
Into the deep dark mud.
—–
The Places
I want to pull you out of the mirror,
To show you much
Of the land behind you:
Cars breaking through concrete
Walls;
Canoes waiting for water to rise,
Before crossing over.
Cows mooing in cacophony;
People suturing the cracks on their footpaths,
Perhaps, because the doctors cannot see them.
I want to pull you out of the mirror maze:
The journey requires you to point out
Places that magnify you,
The places where what is yours belongs
To you.
—–
The Weight of a Wait
The rock waits for the rains
& The heat of the sun.
This cactus does not wait
For rain;
Green limbs parade its valor,
Perhaps, until desiccation inhabits its flesh.
The kite chooses waiting less;
One minute, it is sharpening its claws
On a dry rock,
The next, it is sucking out the eye
Of a nestle.
Like the cactus,
I prefer to suck bits of bliss out of earth
Instead of spending the entire time
Awaiting desiccation.
—–
The Rain
They dreaded the rain,
So, they cut down trees
To build huts.
They desired leisure…
And built grass resorts.
They feared losing power,
So, they organized armies
& Thrones…
Then they feared living,
And devised ways to hurt.
—–
Poems (c) Marial Awendit
Image: Dall-E/Copilot remix