POETRY ON THE HIGHWAY

The drab sameness;

The cold grey and wet screen

Of pouring dew blanketing the view

Of nature’s mysteries,

As this bus sways along

The treacherous road to Benin

Is all I see.

The stifling heat as windows shuts in

Sweaty armpits, makeup and perfumes gone awry.

The silent individuality

Of the passengers as they stare

Into space with thoughts

Of a painful past or a possible future,

Is all I feel on the bus to Benin.

I am a bard, set to document

My people as they live

In pain and in pleasure;

Nightmares and sweet dreams;

Tears and laughter.

I am set to paint,

My hand poised on the blank canvass,

My colours mixed

And my models prepped.

My prop is scattered across the universe.

The world; my setting, the theme, the plot

The story, the protagonist and antagonist.

I stand alone, outside and watch.

Pause and stay here and there, look and see;

Watch and weep.

My heart is cleared, my soul bleeds;

My spirit bent, yet I watch and weep.

Let me paint

Till my hand’s bent.

Words, my colour; Pen, my brush.

Metaphors, my work; Paper, my canvass.

Poetry my life, my love; my pain, my death.

photo credit:  http://wheretheclassroomends.com/revitalized-poetry-overview