Blueprints

I am not a fortune teller but I have been told by my
Grandma's clay pot that the future tastes like morning
Dew. Now, every morning, my skin giggles like rain drops
On our corrugated roof top, my tongue has been diagnosed
With nirvana at the whistle of the sunbird & my cheeks
Has become margarine — spreading its epiphanies in
Repeated circles.

Play me the ikoro and I'll tell you a secret — a secret of how
I have been taught to water my sweaty skin like water falls.
Because of what use is hard work when the seeds don't bloom?

The mission's hymnal was my guide to light as the priest
Offloaded blueprints of tomorrow wrapped in cannonballs.
Say, this is how to plant a seed. Watch out for the sunrise with
Candour in your eyes. Pick up a hoe and till the determination
Wagging in your soul. Bury the seed right into the black box of
Your eagerness & do not forget to carve out love separately for
Your store might run out of it.

Now, here you have it, promises and dreams budding in various
Plots of your body. Tomorrow, the sun will shine and the sky will
Smile on the beauties that your life has groomed.