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...