
To the fools, addled in spirit and
Undone of soul,
Fractured in mind and body —
Your homes, opened at hearth,
Carrying the wholeness of
Warmth and soft bed,
Turn under mortals stars.
They are balm to the weary traveller.
.
I come in supplication,
Humbled by a balance self perpetuated;
See it in the crashing of water
Against yielding sand,
The clear high notes of crimson cardinal —
Triumphant at having arisen
To meet the day by the window;
The slow long blink of the cat,
Wishing to accompany the drowsy
On a voyage to the toilet.
.
And yet, as vulnerable as I appear,
I enter space of home bearing gift.
.
The baking of bread, warm and buttered
Is received with gratitude.
The laughter and story, too.
.
In my hands I carry the subtle light.
The fool, abject and pondering,
Recognizes it below the surface of
Thoughts and the net of wonder.
It is an in-visible brilliance, in
My hand, the hand that reaches beyond
The known, and plucks the
Un-quenching spring of being
.
And this communion has made
Me a fool as well, befuddled and in-love
With the graces of small happenings:
A light and soft smile,
The tenderness of voice,
Sung in chorus, to end in screaming laughter .
.
And the softer things:
A breath,
A glance
A feeling.
.
All of this is new to me.
All this, home.
About the Creator
Sabayo Matiku
I express the realities and frequencies that words are carried on, to speak to the heart in a manner that is simple and free. I've come to ruffle feathers and to polish the sky, to laugh and wonder.


Comments (1)
I love this! The crimson cardinal is such a beautiful description. Fascination work!