The blind have a way of seeing the world, In visions known to them alone – When I was first introduced to her As the last son of her deceased brother, She grabbed my hands firmly As if they were the strings of life; Holding her from a nearby grave – She held them tightly
As I sit on the bus going on home, After my first day back to work, I wear the garments of anonymity, Exiled and clothed in the garments of my memories – Who would have the slightest inkling that I had just returned From an emerald city of palaces, Resorts, skyscrapers, unprecedented luxury In the
An unsuspecting death happened at night, A writer reads the seasons from the lines of his palms Invisible maps drawn with potions as ink for a sorcerer, To decipher whispers words, heard from invisible beings; They populate the empty spaces of the imaginary realm – What do you do, if your life is not what
Daughter of two worlds, sister to two brothers I have come to see the lioness and the lamp in you And watched how you fight your way through the Dichotomy of your life, living and learning to love two fathers Father by blood, father by marriage… How do you see yourself through their jealous eyes?
The language by which we call our ancestors Lose their mythical meaning to the winds of exile, Baptizing an African child in America indoors, on the carpet Is not an act of naming a child out doors; done at dawn On the African earth at home – The libation loses its mystery The proverbs recounted
The opposite of love is death, Hate is too weak an adjective To stand against the power of love – I am bemused by the magic of this invisible earth Giving birth out of the passions of history – Where do I go to find the realm of infinite love? For I am mapping out