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.

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At The Window Seat

At The Window Seat

I was able to spend a few days
with my Mom and while knowing the
window seat was there, never really
gave it a thought. That is until I saw
my Mom sit upon it.

It rests there by design, as though
even the forgotten builders
understood a young shrill voice
would one day cry mine;

It was the honorees place who
established first dibs upon the
precious space; doling areas for
fellow siblings and friends toys
like a feudal lord divides his lands
one to each who best develops his
or her place.

Not without responsibility did such a
lofty tile decree, in the winter
boots and shoes left by the back
door, coats fell nearby as all must
be done by unwritten mandate,
if breached, the serfs as one would
rise up and oust thee.

Summer was a time when as the
days grew from warm to hot,
sometimes a visiting relative might in
a non-violent coup, by her beauty or
his handsome new features, manage
to all win all of said title without
lifting a finger.

How they succeeded at this at times
was seemingly beyond my grasp,
I begin to notice his little furrow of the
brow and her slight pout of lips that
weakened the seats value and
dissolved any order and as violations
mounted quiet negotiations were
taking place in enclaves where
genders were not allowed to breach.

I got a summer job.

The coups and such were still being
counted as my responsibilities grew,
silly things like the window seat no
longer mattered.

When the cushions appeared, Mom
just brushed it off as a flight of fancy;
something to do with silly
old pillows no one barely sits there
any more, she smiled and offered
me a seat.

Having made us coffee, a habit I
picked up while in the fifth grade,
we lived not together so Mom
could not know till I told her about
boiling my Dads used coffee grounds
after he and my Step-Mother left for
work. I felt guilty about this but
continued until I began to pilfer
fresh ground coffee; when found out
and warned on the dangers of stained
teeth I was given an alternative
named Postum.

Ok.

It tastes great at the first cup,
then good at the second, okay
at the third if you can make it
that far, because it loses flavor
and then–bland.

Enough of that.

I handed a cup to Mom, she
thanked me. She mused about
the seat and how it seemed
abandoned now. I knew that
she missed the buzz, but
understood the bedlam of
children at play.

I told her that running and
playing about the house
seemed not that long ago.
She chuckled I always loved
how she laughed. Seems as
though when the responsibilities
mount, the humor is first to suffer.

Life offers and demands much,
the more threads, the harder the
weave. Daily demands often trump
fun, any moment of laughter is to
be relished.

As a child I never realized the fun
interaction could bring, isolation
was my solitary friend or having a
book to read. I did not grow up
around sisters and brothers, for
the most of the summers unity
was by chance not often by design.

I did not mind.

How grateful to my Mom, I guess
she may never realize. Thank you
and gifts seem not enough. I wish
I had the means to take care of her
needs, so she might not want.
This is not realistic because I know
myself and it would not be fair to
her as a reminder of who I am.

Gratitude is enough and with her
family surrounding her, I need not
worry. I pray that life and GODS
mercy will make her future peaceful
and filled with wonders.

The window seat is still there, waiting
for the next bunch of combatants,
to add to its mystique.

Night Beauty

Night Beauty

Latimer Reef Lighthouse offered its
beacon of hope to any wayward boat
as a gesture to warn away.

Perhaps as an accusatory finger
to admonish the embarrassed
pleasure boater – what were you
out there doing, dinner is waiting,
hurry along.

I.

Imagined you were still by my side,
remembering our warm embrace, the
smell of ocean, beach grasses, and
sand. I shifted, hoping that upon
next I turned you would be there.

The darkness was softened by the
glow of billions of stars
immeasurable, their suns and the
great expanse of galaxies linked
by what appears as powdered sugar
or cotton candy in the heavens.

Stringing the bursts of light together
creating a vast backdrop of beauty
fraught with hidden dangers. Black
sky as background, the inky
blackness of ocean serve to muster
the beauty of your face in my mind
as plain as the waves being clearly
exposed by the finger of light each
time Latimer turned to beam in my
direction.

I shift again, I remembered as I put
my face in your hair, always you
wanted excuse its fragrance as not
having been washed recently.

To me the smell is like the most
desirable fruit, the cloths hung upon
the line and then falling face first
into them, with squeals of delight
like happy children.

I saw the caps of the breaking waves
as the beacon of light turned to me
again and pointed, you you.

In my mind…

I helped you lay back upon our old
blanket, drawing close to your face
I saw the stars reflecting deeply in
your eyes. Depths I had never
imagined were projected; now held
in my arms grasp.

Latimer gave you a glimpse of my
smile, you smiled in return. We
were one during that time. I think
the waves sang and the old
lighthouse peeked from time to time
as the stars in your eyes and in the
universes above winked approval.

I wanted you in my life, your soft
passion contrasting with mine.
Your tender love enveloped and
gently overcame my desire for
fierce burning hasty passion.

You taught me patience as I
became your answer of desire
to the complex issues involving the
intricacy of romance in today’s
bustling society.

I felt we both were compliments to
each other as needs were exposed
and life seemed to mount as bricks
on hod that must be carried up the
ladder at a construction site. The
work is grueling, but necessary
to get the job completed.

Our love is like the scene before
the first brick is set, the bricklayer
ensures the foundation is right, uses
string line and plumb bob to obtain
a level and using mud sets it to
begin laying his first course of
brick.

Layer after layer this thing of beauty
comes, stack upon row must brick
after brick run.

Last I saw as you sat beside me
was your hair dancing to the run
of the wind as the sea was music
and old Latimer directed its
spotlight upon you as you were the
star each time it passed.