To J.B.P
A vision, a story
A discovery for me.
I grew up in a barren land,
With stories all around
But no one to tell them to me.
No one standing. All scraping.
Eating dust, scared to fly,
Scared to die.
I heard plenty of stories,
They were revered,
No one knew why.
From them, respect, destiny, tradition, premonition, direction, growth.
But they flew around uselessly. No sound.
No one integrated them because the keys were thrown deep down.
A well. Hidden by well meaning wishers,
Deaf-eared preachers,
Evil stepmothers better judging than our own mothers.
I have dived deep underwater, retrieved the keys.
But they were not all there
And I had to wrestle them from terrible voices
Giving me terrible blows.
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