The sun a graceful ascent makes,
Across the dark blue of the sky.
Rising, conquering and overtaking.
Its weapons, tendrils of reddish light.
A bride with head held high,
Drinking in the glint of admiration,
That dots the eyes of onlookers.
Brush strokes, paint drops in skillful hands.
Birds flit across the reddish blue.
Weightless and free.
Black dots against light blue canvas.
I yearn for their feathered arms.
High pitched melody rises from hardened beaks.
To an unseen being, or so it seems.
And no, its not just me.
The sounds are palms against my eardrums,
A bata drummer’s skillful thumping.
Inducing, rousing, muscle in writhing,
Moving and dancing.
I want to sing to whom they sing.
My rhythmic steps, a colourful paper,
That wraps my offered gift.