Zeyya, My Kenya

Mombasa…my love grows

As her beauty touched my heart like the sight of her brown skin,

I sought her lush greenery and crisp ocean waters,
I am hers, she is mine, touch not her former torments because as does the mother suffer in childbirth so does her loving and beautiful reward emerge,
I hear the beautiful call to prayer for those faithful and sense the other choices made by others who believe–their business all,
Sand and ocean proclaimed loves healing waters and intense sun as up on Bamburi Beach the waves and tides chased and taunted visitors and family,
Just as the beauty of Tudor Creek with its octopus shape is lost on day visitors do the citizenry love its long grasses that move as people who progress through fog to begin their day, or imagined as spirits whose tattered and rotted burial shrouds wave gently and reach to touch all living, perhaps in hope of a rebirth or memory to share,
Languish not upon the Umba River for there are times when it will widen and hurl all from its shores to places unknown or as of yet undiscovered,
Feast upon beauty my Zeyya for not as much of yours as I have compared to your land visited up on my heart and now cemented thus.

Long Ago

I kissed lips that were perfect,

her eyes beheld only me as

though we were granted to live

from creation and from birth.

I saw her lips as my fruit,

delectable and without tender

sentiments that must grow,

in order for love to survive.

Hidden within her features was

was stoic beauty, a languishing

charm without which her

personality would expand from

an unseen mirth.

I found mercy in her arms-warm

from rich cardigans that even my

wallet can ill afford. They were not

necessary as my love bore warmth

enough to sustain us-even allowing

passion to thrive.

Her face beheld an everlasting charm

not given to sudden shifts of decision

she leaned contentedly upon the

crook of my arm.

I counted myself lucky even amongst

the most undesirable haunts as I

often desired do, she remains content,

radiant and ever safe from harm.

Passions Find

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I rejoice in the moment, upon finding true love; glorious acceptance my heart soared high above;

Undefined, now totally understood, my heart captured beauty unpretentious, as before you I should;

Open arms awaited my embrace, within them all is forgotten, my needs now replaced;

Passion thrills, jumbled judgement–all refined, our crushing hug testifies that our locked hearts prove genuine.

Truth of love is plain and evident on our faces, loves healing powers erased all of pains shadowed traces;

I raise my cup to you tender beauty, to your sacrifice and patience, as passions flight upward caused roiling emotions–a storm we weather searing our devotion;

I cradled your passions, held fast to tumultuous upheavals of loves mixture of emotion, while you found yourself, your place in this most curious of romantic solutions.
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Waiting For Beauty

Waiting For Beauty

 
Standing, I foolishly waited for the cosmetics to be rendered their due honors.

Their patron, patiently applying what might work yesterday, not being visualized today.

Who first sought to turn the natural look of a woman in to heightened loveliness, into more when all that might be realized is before man.

Why take GOD’S pure image of treasured greatness and morph her into an idealized perception of her own greatness.

I believe man’s desire for a quick glance to comfort his tyrannical need for perfect has now extended to whom he loves; his judgement is clouded and this blinds him to reality.

A woman is beautiful.

Pay attention to her movements, each pause, turn or hesitation; a selection of choreographed symphonic passions that emanate friendship, love, devotion, loyalty.

What of Man. Will our narrow minded desire for the “perfect woman” alter perceptions of even GODS ordained order. HIS expectation that we are seeking what we might share–perfect, as we see in life, while desirous of what we have not, is a quandary that man will ever seek to overcome.

Why waste her beauty, with the toss of her head we hesitate, by the mere adjustment of her shoulder–perhaps a flex; are we not taken and tossed about.

Every shake or sway of hair, by wind, breeze, fan or step.

A moistening of her lips the sight of her lips slightly parted, rival the most beautiful of sculptures or photos or paintings ever created or may be created.

A slight furrow of her brow, a tender crinkling of her nose, or a twitch–she is honored for her magnificence.

Man, you might miss out while seeking perfection, just as you try to encourage and alter the concept that beauty transformed is the only way. This only leads to foolish pride.

Think.

Look at her unpretentious beauty, visualize her passion, experience her intelligence, see her strength, and learn that which she richly shares, then marvel about all that is about and within her.

If we measured life by what we see upon the surface, life would be miserable and unfulfilled.

Sharing events, or understanding the moments of beauty we are granted, make our lives truly exceptional.

Love: One Version

Love: One Version

You heard the word as you stood upon the ledge; whispering mournfully as a beckoning call.

You felt the word as it swept gently through your hair, as would your lover’s fingers tenderly caressing.

You sense it as a sincere hug from a friend, who wishes their words might soothe the loneliness of loves plaintive call-sweetly, ever sweetly, until your desire overwhelms completely.

I Need You

I Need You

Thinking back upon the events that guide us to this place,
I thrust my mind from your momentary beauty grateful that you surrendered ending my chase.

I saw you first as my heart caught fire while you moved about with measured grace,
softly stepping or walking firmly as each deliberate footfall spoke of determination in your pace.

I think on my love sick desires to have your photo in my grasp,
while keeping heart in check from fruitless efforts in the past.

For the beauty seen in you at a moments pause as for something you tried to find,
I saw tenderness in your touch, though of my stare you seemed not to mind.

The slippery slope of love with its twists and turns I’ve spoken of before,
riding the tunnel of love to end avoiding the traps of pain and loss that likely beset, turns love in to a chore.

Yet, was it your conscience beauty that captured my eye and mind,
or like measured tunes from a piece well written did my heart become entwined.

Did I merely envision the end as we lay arms embraced,
did I toss and turn on nights without end as I hid the love on my face.

Cautiously seeking my heart twisted and reeling from loves accelerated pace,
I saw the beauty of love’s hope and dreams flow like water down my face.

I cautioned myself, what’s the use is there any hope of ending embraced as we are,
perhaps we might as on glorious nights we both sought the same reachable star.

Ice Flower

Ice Flower

Radiant, inspiring, her beauty shown as clear as the great sheets of ice that spanned the breath of Antarctica;

Her, persona was unique and gave him reason to ponder on her magnificence, she demanded nothing of him, sometimes this was perplexing to him; he would shrug it off.

He saw her one morning on his way to an appointment, walking in she smiled as she first saw him; then the frown as though he conjured up some long ago memory that she may have desired to keep filed away.

Laughing to himself, he enjoyed the brief interlude and erased her from his memory.

Giving light to the newness of future events to come enerred as he may have felt himself redeemed and not blamed at his failure with loves immeasurable twists and turns, curves and switchbacks, thusly, giving him reason to cry out.

He thought back, not, because of this one; as another woman walked by. She smiled. Spoke once, and forged ahead to her appointment.

He considered by comparison each ones beauty or mannerism and sought to put into words Antarctica
with its frozen, harsh strata, and characteristics.

He saw his first passerby as the vast desolate landscape as first seen from a distance, white ice and snow covered mountains dominated the horizon; seemingly unforgiving in every respect; here survival rules
without respect to a persons stature
political affiliation, religious choice, or gender.

Come prepared, or come to stay, her eyes seemed to say. He fascinated that perhaps she might have a warm place in her heart for some one.

Miles of frozen expanse gives not love not condolence or leaves nothing to chance, as though her body and face explain give me love completely or undeterred my wind and cold are the wrath I own to impart at will.

Many have found my frozen white sheets do mistake for a bed and lay down upon them for their final sleep.

Fall for this not and listen to your heart. Stand on the ice and snow prepare for winters furious blow arriving without love or preamble, leaves a frozen bitter shamble.