A Look Down My Lane
Green field carpet, fitted only yesterday
an artificial reminder covering the tarmac
Children pulling out invisible flowers
tugging against plastic leaves;
with sheets of faux Egyptian cotton,
sold for $5 at the bazaar
artificial materials surround the imperial courts
a single kaleidoscope shapes up soporific thoughts
calorific cuisines with the chef colorific the coloring
she submerges with the waterfall, a machine furrowing
the profundity of nature burrowing into our human roots
with cards deciding fates of candidates in polished boots
She emerges from within the waterfall, fresh anew
baptized pure, her radiance in cotton giving off a hue
bronze in color; contentment radiating from her shell
charmed by the swooping seagulls, she hears the door bell
I see the young mother walk away
incipient nanny becomes their caretaker
taking care of bastards born & racists bred
Wearing white collar shirts & white suits
they make sure they clean their white boots
Desiccated from what time confiscated, she moves
taking care of rich offspring, spoilt in all moods
soothing an imminent ungrateful urchin she lunches
on spare scraps fallen from their mouth during crunches
of salmon seafood with gravy & bread,
their beds made-up, their pencils with sharpened led
she sanitizes their pristine clothing, whiter than all
& it’s color enhanced on her skin, colored charcoal
She glances out of the window, an invisible apartheid
visible to its dwellers living a life serrated in a half ode
On the other side, southwards the united lands
A black commuter with a black suit, a black hand
Hands him his black boots, clean & rinsed
White cream dispersed, liquidized & vaporized
He wears his black hat with its black band
And I see him walk away proud in stereotypes
Gratified with a cent, she earned crooked & bent
an animate article used to represent, her soul lent
to the schoolmaster, of the other neighborhood
she returns back home, before her father returns
an old caretaker, earning shillings for urns
she hides the burns she had obtained in course
of the ordeal, already fatigued she slept
unknown to when ….
Her father returned...Saw her burns & wept
The traffic lights stop, the ghetto guide bopping
His head against windowed music & the blonde
Haired woman, with branded suits, creases her brow
But for a moment the 2 are united in this free land
There is the signal & the 2 part their cultures & leave
.
.
.
And a lost souls navigates me across desserts of paradise
I see beings of all color communicating & celebrating
And for once, I can smile away my blues.
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