Album of Memories
The nights are hot here now and outside sleep,
My mind travels to red clay roadsides,
Silhouetted baobab trees and blue moon nights,
Where ghost bells ring and dogs bark in the yards.
I re-trace my unsure steps to thirsty stones,
Table-top temple of an ancient water-fall,
Where prayers for rain were well-received,
Shedding tears on the cheeks of supplication.
Shadowed by immeasurable distance,
I gaze at two small huts, the valley falling away to paradise,
The ground swept to bare-skin smoothness
By the leafy brooms of small children.
All are pictures in the album of memory.
They leave me longing, excluded from the present,
Searching for a future time that finds me
Lying in the easy arms of Africa.
Copyright: Madresicilia2008
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