MY HERO

Your ability to make your mark
You look above, find your spot and set away
Through paths near or far and ways big or small
You never seem to stop even for a break.
You can't be touched, even though they may try
You can't be felt, even though they would like to
But what they can do is smell your presence
And watch you rise to the top.
I would like to meet you, be lik you...
Not tomorrow or the day after but right this moment
I could say...you my hero, I admire you alot
You always seem to find your way with ease.
Never heard any noise from you, not even a scream
You as silent as a falling feather; as light as snow
I'm begining to wonder...could you have been a model before...?
You are on the cat walk to the top of-cause.
Please don't be alarmed, I am not a stalker
All I do is follow you with my eyes...
Guess I should have atleast introduced myself
Hello SMOKE, my name is Linda...I am a fan.

Africa's path

This path has become so easy to travel, The corners printed at the tip of my brain. Head straight to meet up sorrow street, turn right at the second corner and catch sad road. When you reach it, right on your left is poor avenue.
Yet the streets do not tell the whole story. I am not defined by the path I travel. I have hope as wide as a swallow's wings. MY eyes as sharp as those of an eagle. I keep focus on the kill, vision on my dream.
From sun set to sun rise, I continue the hunt. My heart races faster than a hungry cheetah. I overcome every sharp turn and come out clean. Without noticing the blood running from my eyes, I rush towards you like the stallion I am.
I am not only a jungle but I live in the jungle. The inside of my body lies the souls of my people. My flesh is the dust I lift at gunshot. The pain that falls upon me washes the sweat away, I am always on the set to take off.
As Africa and as African, the journey never ends.

Travels of a refugee

Its nt too far nw. Just another step 2 go, Its nt too far nw, I am almost there.
Rocks tickle on my feet, Thorns massage my aching feet, The pain warms up my ankles, The hot sand between my toes. Tip-toe... left-right just missed a mine.
Memories of father's execution, another blast not too far away. The enemy is catching up nw, I have to get away. Its nt too far nw. Just one more boarder to cross. Its not too far nw, Im almost there. GOD give me strength, Im now far from home. New faces before my eyes, a new place I call home... I made it here not too long ago, some how relieved... Hope i pray i never have to feel that heat.

It's nature talking.

When we do what we do, it's the way that we do. So we do what we do, why don't you let us do what we do?
We stir the pots and create food for humanity. We brew the thirst breakers of living souls. We blow through the pipelines of the world. We arouse mutual feelings we share with you.
When you do what you do, it's the way that you do. So you do what you do, why don't you let us do what we do?
You eat from the plates that bare wisdom. You drink from the glasses kings toast with. You take a breath of life and inspire a beating heart. You expose your mind to sweet harmonics of truth.
When I do what I do, it's the way that I do. So I do what I do, why can't you let us do what we do?
I am filled with expressions of passion. I am no longer yearning for the waters from springs. I have awoken the natural aura life provides. I possess the roar that sends a baby to sleep.
When it does what it does, it's the way that it does. So you do what you do and let it keep doing what it does, why can't you let nature be?

Hobo's day

He opens his eyes to the light of a new day. Looks above his head, already there is a fire brewing. Gathers his bread and butter to set into the city.

The rising sun tells a new tale. The birds in the sky are singing a new song. Yesterday's news is today's stale bread.

He breaks into the winter breez yet again. Heads to Maitland street for his only meal. When the tower cries, he wil depart again.

He knows the streets as well as its produce. There is not a fly that goes by without his knowledge. It's as though the town is his narration.

Ask him how the baby got into the rubbish bin. Ask him how 'the lady of the night' lost her head. Ask him how the man in the black car drove into a tree.

His mansion is barren yet again. The birds prepare to end the day. This is his que to set his tent all over again.

He lays himself next to the brewing fire. Looks to the sky in prayer and cuddles his belongings like a child does his toy.