She became poetry

She’s right there
Next to me in her golden brown skin
Embellished by her gorgeous blue dress;
Head scarf wrapped just right
Like an African girl in a painting.

She’s right there!
But I can’t move.
I’m planted in my seat like an immovable
Bronze statue;
Listening to her accented voice paint the air
With silky tones so smooth I thought I could try to touch,
But with only enough strength to say
Wow…albeit in hushed tones.

I want to tap her shoulder and say
But I don’t speak Swahili well
And even if I did
I’m too dumbfounded too say anything worth its weight in sanity.

I’m struck stuck.
My words are arranged like an unsolved Rubik cube;
I cannot fix them well enough quick enough to strike up a conversation.

She moves like a lioness
Controlled , gentle but steady;
Barefoot, one with the earth
Her blue dress kissing the ground around her as she moves.
God knows if I had a kingdom I might have given her half.

And when she smiles (Oh you should but see)
The air becomes rosemary,
The lights glow warmer
Gravity gives up a little
And the heart sinks in invisible velvet!
What a girl this is!

And she’s right there;
The most colourful flower in the room,
I’m inches away from forty years ahead
But I’m stuck in my grey area
Riveted by fear and propriety.
Because I can’t find the right words,
The lovely girl wanes into a piece of poetry
Light years from possibility and reality.


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