The Sound of Africa

I woke to the sounds of African women singing,
To birds ringing,
And roosters whining.

I woke to a beat,
Which one cannot sleep,
For it keeps you alive,
As you rise,
To welcome it

The sunbursts a loud hello,
Alone and amidst the bright blue sky,
And banana leaves sway in time,
With the warm breeze,
With ease,
The day begins,

And my sense of sound has been ignited,
Coupled with the oh so familiar smell of Africa.

A sensory explosion,
For it has long been touched,
I have desired this much,
For my land of origin sings the same song.

My blood longs to dance this fine tune,
Of morning dew,
And summer nights.
For England has made my blood thin,
And the greyness dim,
Perpetuates the longing for something grin.

I am but a mere stranger to this land,
Yet unknown of its foreign sand.
I wait in anticipation of future elation's,
Or perhaps deflation.

This is but the pure anxious excitement
Of entering naively the adventures of new,
As I weave a unique thread,
And wed the fabric in stitch,
To which a blanket is made.

This blanket will guide me,
From the pitfalls of human frailty,
And I must believe in the power of the higher deity,
To keep me safe on my path of desirability.

I now leap off the mountain,
A fool wise and unnerved,
For I deserve to be free,
And see how life can be.

The Brighton to London Poet

© 2006 MCARB