Sycamore Tree

She sat at the roots of a sycamore tree,

Lay her sacred body across the plains at its feet

As she playfully nibbled at its fruit, beckoning me to come on closer.

I couldn’t help but marvel at the African goddess that lay before me,

From the tips of her bare feet toes all the way to the ends of her stubborn afro.

Her stubborn afro that resists the wind that tries to push past it,

I can’t help but think that her smile will be the birthplace of many a sleepless night.

A sparkle dances across her white piano keys teeth,

The aftermath of when the stars fell and settled themselves within her eyes that shine so bright,

So bright, I can almost taste the glory of her soul as it whispers sung poetry and drum beat lullabies to my aching heart.

My mind soars to distant galaxies where she and I gaze at the moon on the riverbank,

Making light work of childbirth as we give life to our offspring,

That we conceived that fateful afternoon, with tongues as quills that etched divine scriptures upon open-page hearts,

When she said, “Po honey on me,”

Under the heart-shaped eyes of a Sycamore Tree.

– Yaone W. J. Kgabi a.k.a. Po

 

This piece was inspired by the song “Sycamore Tree” by Tehlai X. You can listen to it here: https://soundcloud.com/risque_baroness/sycamore-tree-by-tamara

Again.

Confusion,

He stood there,

Blood rushing from his face faster than electron particle physics,

A single tear racing him as he unbuttoned his shirt,

He studied her naked paradise from across the room,

Moving slowly towards him like a cobra enchanted by the ancient snake charmers,

Legs trembling, he fumbled with the succulent flesh between his hands,

She looked him in the eye and said;

“Make the most of it. You don’t get to do this again.”

Cosmic chaos.