DEAR, DEAR MOTHER

I have to face the truth,

I know I’ll lose you someday,

And so I know I have to somehow make every moment with you count…

 

 

My, future’s ahead of me,

Like a path winding into the horizons….

From your words and wishes, you whisper,

That my success is the only crown fit for your head…

Your utterances float in the air,

As the glistening tears sail your somber face…

You have nothing to fear,

I assure you, I’ll do all I can,

I refuse to give up,

Even when I know I’ve surpassed my dreams…

 

 

You’re living for me,

All of your wealth, your time, your insight,

And unbounded care,

Like a faucet to a cistern,

You give me everything,

I just have to ask… I know you’ll give me anything…

 

I’ve seen angels before,

Fair-skinned, supple beings… enthralling beauties…

But with every gesture,

Every prosodial advice,

Every stern verse, you re-define guidance,

You instill all that heavens deem right…

 

I’d hate to lose you now, lost as I am,

My antics still haven’t made you proud,

May my benign foolishness accord you no harm…

 

Hard-work is all that pays,

In this world, little is accorded to charm,

I know you’ll be gone someday,

I just pray you’ll live long enough to acknowledge,

That all your efforts were not in vain.

 

THE BLIND DOTH’ SEE COLOR

They possess vision, absent sight,

Minds woven with threads of vivid colors,

Dexterous hands, cheerful hearts,

They possess a gift, and yet they cannot see what they have,

They long for the things, to which you only close your eyes,

You have your precious mornings, the glowing sun,

You have your moon, the blur of stars,

A sky littered with celestial light…

All they have is the dark,

A silent blackness, shrouding every thought.

 

 

They live on the crumbs of our words,

Ordinary descriptions, igniting enchanted thoughts,

For them, the sea has a voice,

She speaks to their hearts, promising adventure amidst chaos and calm,

They listen – Libations to her charm.

The breeze of the Harmattan is not without its thoughts,

A contradiction of cold tales and arid fibs,

Only in their minds does such difference find a fit,

And yet they feel…they feel it and they know.

 

 

Roses have their thorns,

For them its contrast is more than enough,

For we all need the blessings to balance our faults,

Spike here, silk there,

They don’t have to see,

They are schooled by the stucco they confront…

 

Their every memory laden with knowledge and truth,

Life for them transcends the habitual burden of proof,

Their thoughts are an elixir for their ever youthful minds,

Interwoven with threads and seams dyed in ardor,

I dare say, the blind doth’ see color…