Kenyanpoet
Like I, a wordsmith who is still learning how to use the fire in her tongue like fire flies or young dragonsI, a smith who sometimes let words burn out while others spew out undone
If only my words could be the sun chasing the moon into hiding
And be the only constant in this ever changing life
Like a compass, my words would constantly indicate the four poles, the direction that our society is taking.
If only my words could show their real colors like a bow of rain
For all the discerning eyes to see beneath the words and pick out all the hues
For there are times that certain vowels and consonants do not want to be the constant cast in my play of words.
And at certain times they beg to be hidden behind others in a show of defiance against misinterpretation, misrepresentation, misquote
Words to poets are like toys to a toddler
My crawling words now walk, though sometimes unsteadily
I have painfully learnt to let go the pet and venture into dark alleys
Now I let words bind my mind holding my tongue in a trance
I no longer have control over my words
For they can read my thoughts
And my thoughts can no longer hide like shadows
From the light.
Njeri Wangare
kenyanpoet(at)gmail(dot)com
------------------------------------
All rights Reserved©
------------------------------------
May ‘09
