The winds of change are sweeping
Across the deserts of my despairing
Soul and the blood of the women warriors
Whose battle cry
Can still be heard echoing
From the caves of my suppressed truth
Is awakening.
The gods of time are sighing
From their watch towers
And my ancestors
Must be glad to see me returning
Home to myself
While I am yet to witness
My own rebirth.
The vibrations of peace are flooding
My body with every breath
And I can feel
A tide of calmness washing
Over every cycle
My spirit has held close.
The dying light is adamantly glowing
From the shadows
And the dark clouds hovering
Over my shrines
Are reluctantly lifting off
For me to regain
My spiritual sight again.
A season of spilling expressions
Has enticed the mind
And the tips of my pens are itching
To stitch yesterday's regrets
With tomorrow dreams
As a collection of bittersweet poems
About the imbalance.
Too much has been going on and I am trying to reemerge from the hole I have been hiding in. If only there was a way this creative wave can stay for a little longer then I would gladly leave my comfort zone.
wambuku w.
