Barefoot Philosopher
the real name of a hero
that never dies
That mist that always
goes up even in day light
redeems them of the curse
the blessing,the hate and contradiction
that her forefathers' name carries
we sit around the eminent fire
that toxicated her with wisdom
that she she dished to us from
the calabash she held underhand
she sits,graceful with the twinkle
on those beautiful,rich brown
ebony eyes that showed the liveness in her
as the story of her life
walked out of her mouth
feminenly rolling her tongue
she elegantly holds high her head
as her radiant face
emits that urge that makes
one read within the wrinkles
of her well curved face
Those lines,tell a tale of their own
yearning for you to
trace a finger along them
so they can insipate in you
all there is to drawing every breath
and letting it go
she gave birth to the wonderfull earth and
all that walks down the trees
into the woods down across Babylon
into Canan
Words rubbed across her tongue
with ease and made me appreciate
this very woman
my mother was born to
and many other who walks this soil barefoot
She being the same flesh
as my mother,your mother
our mother,yet she utters
shadows that feeds many...
Copyright © Neo Bridgette Kitso | Year Posted 2008
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