The struggle

Lips pursed to imprison the protest of a hot, sizzling afternoon under the sun
her....shoulders slouched, clothing stiff and matchless perhaps to symbolize the 'slaps' with a wooden stave at the bottom of a nearby trench

Her toes cringed from touching the road; hot and humid to give an illusion of a slipper that fit....just right...
She clutched the handle of an umbrella beside an electric post...waiting for her pick up...bus drop
with whom she'll negotiate a penny less of the actual cost
wouldn't mine being pulled in by the cop

Her eyes overflowed with "tears of the sun" yes the movie ...replaying the film through each gesture, squint, blink...

But, on the flip side, she has company....

Tall, dark, parched, llively, 'silly'...collectively they rewrote the pages of history:
neat row, clean shirt; no dirt, long pants that brushed his ankle revealing deep cracked heels...a
picture that hastily reminded the bulge of his left eye and chipped tooth!
"Sophia! Sophia !" the louder he said it the faster the crowd piled in warm seats.

..... this man....that woman....his cracked heels...

her cringed toes...her squint...his chipped tooth

"Kunta kinta"....."Coolie mudda"

Slavery.....Indentureship

i watched in oblivion out of the sun; through different lens

I respected their push, energy, necessity... to keep on keeping on

Their necessity.... to keep on... keeping on

keep on...keeping on(echoe)

..

Love is....

It seems as if i can wrap myself around the toss 'n' tumble of pungent memory as long as there is love... and... poetry

Memories i can't simply forget like William shakespeare and Juliet, Macbeth? though his story different....
It was written by a poet of love and if that's what spewed from his pen ....then that's how he'll always be remembered

If... that's what spewed from his pen...then... that's how he'll always be remembered


....why... do i unravel and travel along the painless, effortless journey of what was real epiphanising, uncompromising.....realising that

pages glared to resuscitate the life and perpetuate the resounding voice of a naive 16 year old describing love as if 61!

what can she possibly know?...i questioned myself.... but it occurred to me that love is youth... in an emotional, devotional way...

you know what it is when its found, explored and experienced....

Love is addictive, attractive and reactive

Love has no weather; it's a silly hat above rediculously huge yellow goggles frowning at the sun and dancing under the moon

love is a song that wouldn't end soon


Love is as simple as a breath of fresh... air


Love, like a clock, ticks as long as ...the heart... permits

Love is the slow, rhythmic beat of the drum... sinking into the melody of soft strings on a spanish guitar and.....saxophone......the play of an old polished flute... especially when the characters are mute

Love is an antiquated wine; intoxicating, riveting and quenches the thirst for knowledge and introspection

Love is as beautiful as knowing God

God is as beautiful as knowing love

Love is giving without weakening....it's giving in excess

Love resembles nothing, wears nothing but bears all beneath the steel walls of our breast

Love is never captive but free

Love is grateful for that 16, 61 year old who thought that.....

Love is..... always.... faithful