The world lay before me as a leaf.
Tomorrow coming as a new leaf
turned to give me a new start.
This is the art,
written as a monocotyledonous hieroglyph-
swallowed by the mind for it is photographic.
Life in a strand- branching out to touch something.
Something growing into anything from nothing.
The beauty behind how water travels
to reach the eyes and then unravels.
To hold the bosom of this unity as a color
Green, and embedded from God the donor.
The root of this tree held in the ground.
Black color cannot turn this around.
Save your painting, this is the real art;
splitting from seeds, branch, leafing’ apart.
Life is like this journey
harnessed in colors ying and yang harmony.
Listen closely with eyes in your mind,
there is not a room in heaven as fine as this kind.
Like a blade
In the morning of your life
From seeds planted by man
And grown by the fingers of God
You enlarged in the noon
Climbing the staircase of life
Broadened, green, wise and proud
And like my palm
Your unique history is written
On the pages of your skin.
Pointing all fingers
To the high heavens
Forgetting yet another season
Of the twilight
That comes with dwindling.
You changed colour,
Humble, you bow,
Dying , dead
Wish the humans,
Will see themselves in you.
This is us when we are angry,
Veins stand like fair atemis;
Our hearts collect crevices
To erect pillars that clog and leave us cranky.
Then sharp, pain cuts through.
Running out is running into a maze.
You say it is i, i say it is you.
Our mouths light fires that cool off ablaze.
This is us when we mate;
Pure petals that bloom.
Succulent seedlings we create,
A semblance of us in the womb.
A branch falls off guarding her leaves,
A tree dies mourning her leaves.