The Whisper …

1 June 2016

She would tell me
In the space between heartbeats
Feel the punch from earth
Coursing through feet to your fingertips
Alerting you to the whisper of touch
Beckoning you to listen for the precision of creation

Is there peace in Africa?
Amidst the dirt roads of cities with confused architecture
Gusts of wind carrying you on rushed mosaics of function,
Aboard the ‘teksi, matatu, daladala, or bodaboda’
With smells of sewage, fried plantains and exhaust fumes not a bother
Still… there’s a bird of unified victory flying high

He would tell me
Look for it, in the rhythm of our gait
The creativity of our food
The clicks of our tongues,
The resourcefulness of the calabash
In the kitenge, kente, indigo and batik sash
Pinpoint her wings

So you always know you can look up
To draw inspiration from the majesty of the clouds
Resting in the assurance of traditions
That paid attention to the whisper

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