I Know This Goddess That Walks The Earth…

 I know This Goddess That Walks The Earth.

 

barefoot, She

digs naked toes

root deep into soil as jet-Black as She

as eons-old as She

as fertile

as She

her womb

entombs many secrets She is worn

by Mystery to keep

while bringing forth ideas

for the world to behold

(her labour pains remain, as yet, untold…)

 

This Goddess Walks The Earth soundly

Crowning Glory locked and

whipping proudly

guarding chronicles so ancient

that they’d crumble if held by those less experienced

She Walks The Earth rhythmically

prayer beads clicking philosophies

and theories

Moses, what? She turns heads,

splits atoms and infinitives,

as well as parts seas and so

it goes unsaid that winds do her bidding when sliced by capoeira kicks

and rains obey

at the shake of her ever-present stick…

 

This Goddess Walks The Earth

breezing past me

glancing at me for only a second’s fraction

but

Her Gaze Is Dead On

and I can just tell

that whole galaxies swirl behind her eyes

for

she is both Brahma the Creator of dreams and wishes

and Shiva The Destroyer

of myths and legends

possessing power to bring down the heavens

and cloak herself

in their silver grey finery…

 

This Goddess Walks The Earth

dizzying scents lingering

in her wake -

sandalwood and patchouli oil,

cherry tobacco and the lightest hint of coconut

Soul Sista smells of all things feminine

all that i yearn to hold close, she

smells of sleepless late nights and

getting caught out in sudden downpours

and even heartbeats

against my back and

although i have never been there before -

i just know

She Smells Of Home…

 

but sometimes,

sometimes this Goddess Does Not Walk The Earth

sometimes She Rides Over It

leather horse tethers in one bangled hand

as five curled digits

punch melanin holes into the stratosphere

She

swallows the sun for safekeeping

and

when She smiles -

 I catch a tan…

 

now made several shades Blacker

i too seek to manifest light

manifest life and

She,

Thinker Of Conscious Thought,

provokes my growth creatively;

intellectually;

stirring me from restless sleep

coaxing me from fetal position

and i

numbed by years of playing Gatekeeper To My Core

slouch,

humbled and defeated,

with knees buckled,

at how easily She turns the key…

 

and so the yearn is to

take sips from the words

that wet her lips

and

lay my head on her lap while

resting petals of prose at her feet

but

unsure of what gifts befit her

i approach hesitantly,

hands swinging,

for I possess nothing,

nothing

save this mantra:

 

Diva, I Come In Peace.