Beneath The Floor Of Heaven

Beneath the floor of heaven
lies a land where trees can talk
Where stones debate with the soil
And leaves chat with the wind
…and marvelous things happen

A land of stars that speak
of the past, and its glory
And the gurgling brooks narrate
colorful stories of tomorrow
…and lovely things are everything

The waves dance as the ocean
sings with a voice deep and mellow
They move to salsa with the sand
and bejewel the beach with shells
…and beauty is reality

In that land, beaches give speeches
And icicles create articles
that inspire the stones to sermons
And make the brooks write books

A man and his boy join hands
on a chainsaw and fell a tree
As the tree crashes…
the leaves crumple in complaint, and the wind howls in pain
His large flip-flops wallop the soil
His tiny feet hit the stone
– they both are deaf to the debate

A band of girlfriends reward themselves
with gossip on a glittery night
As the darkness flashes…
the moon removes the blanket of clouds, to admire the starry crowd
But the ladies do not hear the stars
narrating stories of glorious times of yore;
They pass the gurgling brook
clueless of the message that it shouts
A guy and his girl walk holding hands
And kiss on the romantic beach one night
As the waves splash…
ocean’s music gets loud, and the pretty shells applaud
Yet the guy and girl fail to hear the
deep voice of the waters
They are blind to the salsa of the sand
and sea.

People are too concerned with the here and now
that they fail to see the eternal…

Scientists busily search dinosaur prints
yet fail to see that all nature is God’s footprints…

Materialists are too drunk on the physical
And walk staggeringly through this meaningless existence…

And we all, absorbed in the “critical problems” of our world today,
loiter futilely into another day.
Deafened by our troubles to the speech of the beach
Blinded to the article of the icicle
Paying no attention to the sermon of the stone
And failing to read the book by the brook

Beneath the floor of heaven
lies you and me

Creation has God’s thumbprints all over it!
See them?

The Artist And His Paintbrush

>>I love this one

Using a voice I cannot hear
he calls me outside
and stuns me as I walk
by him in his workshop…

…his invisible hands reach out
and dim the lights
as I stand in silence
– my breath slowly seeping away

I adore his being – though
unseen – eyeing his palette –
picking his paintbrush –
and starting with orange…

…with magical whisks of the
intangible brush – held with
hands unseen – he transforms
the dull canvas into a play of colors

The orange turns to pink as the
fluffy whites become a fading blue
and time unnoticeably escapes
with the light – into a hazy blackness…

…and men go to sleep

A Loud Silence

The silence is so loud
…it’s the only thing you hear!

The sound of silence resonates
softly on the walls of my heart
where passions rage
with vehemence...

I am a pantomime -
acting out my life:
The storyline is a deadly reality
but I play my part - mute:
I can do nothing -

Can I?
I can do nothing but play
this horrid rehearsed silence -
as directed

The Play of Life:
Starring: Me!
Director: Me and ThaW!
Stage: The World

I star as a black star -

There are shackles in my mind
that I need to break from -
and my heart is locked away in
a cell called Life -
I need to break free!

But all I do - all day, all night -
in my daily fantasies
or in my tossing-turning dreams,
is play myself!

Silently!!

I speak silence -
I walk silence -
I eat silence -
I dream silence -

I am loudly silent!

I am ravaged with the feet of
oppression - crunched like a
crisp leaf in an Afrikan* summer
or like kribaa za mihogo in the
mouth of a desperate form two
- but I cry in silence!

My Harvard degree -
and presidency of the world -
does not help me
- I am strangled in silence!

My chidren's blood splashes like
the tomato juice that spills erratically
from a goat's mouth to the walls of
a dung-smeared hut
and I am the one who shoots at them
with spears and AK-47s -

I walk like Johnny Walker -
staggering softly through
the invigorating aroma of
fresh human urine and the
delicious stench of faeces
in a compost heap of flying
toilets -

while my wife's at home
by the hearth stones -
baby on her back -
blowing the cold ash with hope
that it will magically turn to fire

and my son silently shouts,
"Usijali mama, puliza tu!"

"Puliza tu Mama, moto utatokea!"

Mama's smile reveals her crooked
teeth, and the tears in her eyes
narrate the story experience has
taught her - again and again -

Pain rains -
daily -

The neighbors come and take
my goat away - then they put a red X
on the door of my dung hut -
then they pour water on it - and it
evaporates beneath this Afrikan
sun that bites -

then they smile at me - then they say
they want to "develop" me - then they
take my flying toilets away - then they
keep directing the play that is my life

Oh!
I forgot to thank them for this jojo in
my stomach - they say they'll make me
throw up - and take it away - then make
me eat the dust...
and the vomit, too

and I play my part in silence!

They love me!
Both the audience and the director
I am their favorite actor!

They love my "obedience" -
and my mastery of miming
as a theatrical device -
they adore the sweet art of my silence!

And I - writhing in pain - take a bow

They shout their appreciation as I am
abased - to the ground -
they shout - but we do not hear!

The silence is so loud...
it's the only thing you hear!

When will I let my beauty arise??

Beauty In Tangles

Life is like a bundle of interwoven strings,
each adding to the beauty of the tangle,
– some see the beauty others the tangle.

Some see a beauty, some see a mess -

Afrika, The Baobab!

Afrika - like a baobab - big and strong:
Outwardly withering away
Inwardly refreshed and renewed -
day by day...
The scorching heat of the unending sun -
The crazy storms of life -
The poverty in greenness - drought all around;
But Afrika, the Baobab, never dies!
Filled with enough water to last all droughts...
...with a beauty uniquely your own...
...lone...misunderstood...underappreciated;
yet alive and strong!
An unspoilt virgin: Afrika, the beautiful!
Now, as the sun sets behind you
A beautiful silhouette of dry twigs - stretched out -
like a maze of a million lifted hands is all that's left!
The dark has come. All is gone.
But the strength in you remains - my Afrika!
The heat! Storms! Droughts!
You remain beautifully you: My Afrika!

Beauty - it's what's inside!!!

Zoë:

The moon shone on her cocoa-brown skin
and a silvery sheen settled on her bright pink lips.
Light played on her shiny black gown as she walked past the silent pool
and her shadow danced to the musical tunes of her movement.
A leaf crunched beneath the feathery tread of her stilettos
while other leaves rustled as they wrestled with the wind
and she kept walking – ting… ting… ting…
…gracefully…
With a subtle spring in her step – and legs crossing each other –
she walked towards a handsome guy kneeling beside the pool
with two red roses sleeping gorgeously next to him
…and a camera in his hand…
which clicked –
as her luscious lips parted to show off bright milky teeth
and as she bent to play with the water
and as she posed with the roses – pretending to kiss them
and as she closed her eyes to reveal the mascara – and the pinkness on her eyelids
and as her delicate brown fingers bejeweled her wind-blown hair
…
she was a supermodel

She rubbed her still-sleepy eyes when she woke up –
at 6:00 to try and finish the assignment due –
at 8:45 – and this lecturer is very strict!
Lazily pushing the blanket away and walking towards
Daystar’s dirty depressing toilets to ease herself – then wash her tired face
…
another long tiring day – full of dead-ends and deadlines – is about to begin

…but it was a beautiful dream!