Be with me, love.

As the fan, firmly hung on the ceiling – beats
to neutralise
the humidity,
I take in the coastal vibes.
I swear I can hear the Indian ocean as it washes ashore the white sandy beaches of
this African shore.
I am not here alone.
I am here with mothers and fathers long gone,
their spirits soothing my heart.
I swear I have been here before.
Of course I’ve been here before.
I was born here.
My umblical cord
was burried here
in this land.
I am not alone.
Folks come and go
but they never leave.
Every touch
lives forever in this heart.
That’s what the airs of Pwani taught me:
that every mark on my heart is here to live forever;
whatever form it came as, it shall live in my heart
forever
as a mark of love.
And I shall remit this love…
so love begets love.
I am not here alone.
Intimate with a soul that reminds me so much of mine.
A soul that recharges me as though I was empty
until I got here,
where the sun beats with no mercy
and the breeze blows without ration.
But like the turtle that swims thousands of miles to kiss the East African mangroves,
I too
shall leave this land
so that I may come back once again
to feel the love that these shores emit.
Let me soak myself in the salty waters of the ocean –
perhaps my sins will wash away and dissolve into
the vastness of Earth’s purifying waters.
Perhaps my heart will fill to the brim with love
so that I may empty my heart again.
I just want to soak in love
until
all I am made of is
love.
Until every breath I breathe out is laced with love.
Until every drop of sweat that drips off my skin is sweetened
with love.
I want to soak in love until there is nothing left in me
but love.
Show me love,
tell me love.
Show me, love.
Tell me, love.
Be with me,
love.
afrolove
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This entry was posted in Africa.

One comment on “Be with me, love.

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