There is an emotion called “fat”,
It is what happens to you,
When people say, you have put on weight,
‘Oh look at you, better shed the flesh’.
‘Oh my, someone’s been indulging,’
‘Oh, don’t be upset, this is for your own good’,
‘What a pretty face you have,
In vain, all that beauty.’
Like a silent dark angel,
A fluttering of the wings,
Against the inner linings of the mind,
A sense of suspicion you think.
Benefit of the doubt,
You know you want to give,
But something is not right,
The rest, it just doesn’t fit in.
The wind is a mysterious force; I call it a “He”.
Curious and filled with wonder in his babyhood,
He is gentle and calm as it mixes the tunes,
with the foliage in the garden of his childhood.
Mischievous and playful in his adolescence,
Turning into somewhat shy but flirty,
In the endless dancing of the evening,
The wine and a lover’s yearning.
‘When the leaves wither, crusty and brown,
They code a special history in them,
The seasons of the day, the secrets of the night,
And the conversations of the wild.’
‘The murmuring of the earth,
As they rest on her wet and raw soil,
The busy bees and the buzzing queens,
The fluttering wings of a firefly.’
Caught red handed!
She feared for her life,
The old woman who saw her,
Leaving her infant behind.
‘The child you birthed was born in you,
Long before you saw the light of this world.
This is a beautiful but a strange thought,
A force of nature with a free-will of power’.
She walks the city like a stranger,
The city of her youth,
The liberation from tradition,
She was most used to,
The city that pushed her off the cliff,
To learn how to fly for the first time.
She tells herself that she could buy shoes,
Louis Vuitton maybe,
But these once desired wants,
Seem not to want maybe,
Then she says that she could,
Go dine in a fancy restaurant,
The expensive ones she used to wash dishes at,
Perhaps order some champagne.
He looked up and then looked afar,
His eyes met the valley of Jerico,
The door of promise left ajar,
The endless view as far as Zoar.
He sighed like a man who had seen it all,
Like a king who had conquered an inheritance,
Like a great wise man who knew His call ,
Heard His voice and saw His all.
She sits at her window,
Waiting for something to stir,
The monotony of her days,
The days too long and nights too cold.
She waits for the sound of the fishmonger,
The postman who only brings her bills,
The bickering of the couple next door,
Quarrelling over little things.
The merchant of the East,
The trader whose gold,
Adorned the heads of kings,
And the long reigning queens.
His fortune added to nothing,
The emptiness was never fulfilled,
The prestige his money bought.
For a long while now it seems.
So he wasted no time,
And sold all his wealth,
Gave it to a worthy cause,
And distributed the rest.