Shades of the Future
He said he would paint the soles of his feet,
Paint them some absurd colour, maybe purple, or black
So that every time he would walk down the street,
They’d see for themselves, he was leaving a mark.
He said he would scent his each and every word,
Apple cider, eucalyptus, frankincense, blueberry or sunflower,
So that every time that they were heard,
They’d hear for themselves, this was his hour.
He said he would spice the work of his hands,
Exotic spices, cayenne pepper, dhana jeera and a dash of cinnamon,
So that every time he executed his plans,
They’d taste for themselves, he was going to be the man.
He said he would choreograph his dreams,
Swift salsa, beautiful ballroom, complex chacha, covers all his bases
So that when he told the of his schemes,
They would know for themselves, he was going places.
He said he would engrave an effigy on his palms,
An image reflecting the person that he wanted, one day, to be,
So that whenever they looked in his eyes, shook his hand,
They’d feel for themselves, he wanted to be free.
He said he would paint the soles of his feet,
Paint them some absurd colour, maybe purple, or black
So that every time he would walk down the street,
They’d see for themselves, he was making a mark.
Poetry is..
The music of the songbird harnessed into writing,
The bark of the dog that they say does no biting,
The shriek of a child on hearing something exciting,
The sound sweet and the sound uninviting.
The smell of a cake baked fresh from the bakery,
The last touch of an artist on his perfect tapestry,
The touch of a cook as he does his wizardry,
The smile on a face where once was misery.
The silence of the still evening when all else is at rest,
The feeling you feel when you know you are blessed,
The tongue from which all lies are confessed,
The bravery to stand when put to the test,
The lies unspoken the words unwritten,
The tales untold the sinner unforgiven,
The repentance unasked for the bread unleavened,
The grace untouched the speech now given.
The crossword puzzle once puzzling now solved,
The anti-social stranger now eagerly involved,
The baboon within you now slightly evolved,
The dispute of friends now calmly resolved.
The book we have read from cover to cover,
The love that we see between sister and brother,
The smiles that we pass from one to another,
The cry of a new born child to its mother.
The piece legislatory that had been repealed,
The history behind what we had thought was sealed,
The mystery behind what the world had concealed,
The words we find on a blank page revealed.
Michael Onsando
Michael Onsando is an unpublished Kenyan writer still in law school. He publishes most of his poems on his blog (http:michaelscrapbook.blogspot.com). He is currently working on his first collection of poetry entitled “The Language of The Earth”.
