THE SEEDS OF XA
Hands of the baobab
knarled, reaching for the southern stars
house seeds of ancestors and shades.
Spirits wheeze through
muted leaves, slithering on the charred dust
as souls are captured in the fruit
while footprints imprinted on the stubs of root reach
for the salvation of the future
and the restoration of the past.
It is my home. …
The home of the nomad and wayfarer
free in spirit and mind
my heart belonging
to the earth!
From the threads of manacle we are blind
the spoken words sometimes unkind.
we have innate
the ability to dominate, then obliterate
not to appreciate
as in darkness we try and illuminate
the truth which can only be revealed
in effulgent cogitate.
The past echoes triumphs of the future.
The wounds of Xa healed by sutures
once revealed in the starkness of nature.
Seeds of the past bear fruits of the future.
EARTH AND SKY
There was once melancholy
Steeped in the institute of folly
When Earth looked at Sky
And wondered why the distance
Between them was so capacious.
Such was the will of serendipity,
separated by the need for diversity.
Said Sky to Earth
While you toil and spoil
I watch and reflect your arduous efforts.
I am the mirror to your reflection.
Man is like the stars
till his last breath…
born, sparkle and then death.
Look not so sad dear friend
For this is not the end
As long as the sun
Rises and sets
from East to West
I shall be your companion
With I’m sure mutual admiration.
As you wilt under Sun
Do not think for me its fun
As I carry the weight of that torch,
This burns and scorch
When the night is nigh
Do I heave and sigh
As the oceans in ebb and tide
Can barely from the moon hide.
I belch and vent my anger
To which you are no stranger
As I wreak havoc with rain
Then recoil with pain
As I watch in vain
So said Earth to Sky
Fear not friend or foe
You have not lost your halo!
Land, speak to me as I speak of you.
Caress me as I lift you in the palm
Of my hands and let you sieve through my fingers.
Own me by taking me in your bosom
Unlike I, who possesses and stamp my imprint
Scarring and wounding your flawless,
Land that bites the hand that feeds her,
and feeds the hand that bites her.
She does not hesitate to illustrate
Or neither demonstrate nor remonstrate
her fury or scorn.
She ingests and regurgitates
Scintillates and fascinates
then oscillates in the circle of life.
Many have turned their backs on her . . .
She still welcomes them smiling
On a face scarred and ravaged
Wrinkled and savaged.
There is still a smile!