My blood ripples, turns torrent,
Topplees the years and once i’m
In my mother’s lap a suckling;
At once i’m walikng simple
Paths with no innovations,
Rugged, fashined with the naked
Warmth of hurrying feet and groping heart
In the green leaves and wild flowers pulsing.
Then i hear a waiting piano
Solo speaking of complex ways
In tear-furrowed concerto;
Of far away lands and
New horizons with coaxing diminuedo
Counterpoint, crescendo.
But lost in the labyrinth of its complexities,
It ends in the middle of a phrase at a
Dagger point.
And I, lost in the morning mist of
An age at a riverside keep
Wandering in the mystic rhythm
Of jungle drums and concerto
Jessica Ayere Davies – jayere2002@yahoo.com
