curled from Diaspora Heartdrops by Chris Dahi
As a king I stand
On the balcony of my palace
and survey the cacophony
that is my concrete kingdom.
I hear in the rear of my heart
The gentle serenade of the wind
Whistling through the palm leaves
I smell the tingly tingey aroma of sun burnt vegetation
And the potpourri in the air
that is the mixed scents of wild exotic flowers
arousing in me the sensation of a wild beast in heat
And I think of home
As my reminiscence is shattered by the shrill siren
of the Police and Ambulance
Those harbingers of pain and death
in my domain of smoke and debauchery,
My heart romances with the heady
rhythm of an early morning of my home
As I close my eyes I see the silver morning sun,
slowly slowly embracing the baobab and oil bean trees
on top of the distant hills
like the maternal enfolding hug of a young mother
around her first born on her naked breast.
And I think of home.
As the screeching tyres and blaring horns
that is the heart beat of my kingdom of steel and iron
bounces off the glitters and chrome of the wild jungle
over which I rule
In the solitude of my peaceful mind
My spirit soar like an eagle
Over the pacific paradise that is my home
I feel the rhythm and the peace of the thunderous water fall
The serenity and quiet of the slow flowing stream
I feel my pulse race at the screaming
quiet tension of a lion on the prowl
And another beast about to die
And I think dearly of my home
I hear as my blood tingles, the eternal rustle of leaves
as the cool sweet breeze of the hinterland blow gently through them
I hear the pounding of mortar in the homestead
The cry of a baby and the placating coo of a patient mother
As I wonder at my trepidation
and join in the unending monotonous routine
of the working urban citizen who is my subject
In my mind I stretch out on the peaceful welcome
of a spring side as I dream of my home
I see my bare chested kinsman coming back from the farm
with his hoe hanging from his shoulder and a song whistling from his pouted lips. I smell that wild mixture of sweat and dirt emanating from him as I listen to the beauty of the cricket chirps and the singing birds
Then suddenly an intrusion!
as an iron horse charges down the pacific rural path
And in my fear and confusion
I see my synthetic urban kingdom in a wild embrace with my undefiled peaceful home
and I wept
It is sad
Oh so sad.
