Songs of acceptance had returned to the other Night songstresses. Leaving this one. They flipped tiny wings and left Feathers of past presences. In the stillness of dawn, Right before the light had caught the Dew and gone, Like a spider awaiting its web’s vibration to Tingle. I called out and listened for the wind to send my song back. At the cage’s door Chirping nervousness. Thousands of songs But never mine. In the clutches of some feline. Tale, of a song less Nightingale.
Where Two Lines Meet by Afreeca Graham
It’s a burst of chaotic laughter Like the collision of two cars hitting each other. It’s the beginning of something risky. Like a handshake at a meet and greet. Where two lines meet, A road end. And you can rest for a while until You’re ready to trod on again. Where two lines meet, Blood flows. Two lines meet in a middle Or the beginning of an end. Joining a clothing line. Interwoven vine. Where two lines meet, The path is hazy-
Where two lines never meet. Wonders never cease. Like the streak of light that pulls you to the horizon. Lines that never meet Evoke fear, And bliss. It’s a trail filled with many signs “beware” Like the road to nowhere. Lines that never meet, Destinations are never clear, Journey is neat. And the things you see Comes from lines that goes on Into eternity. The things you never understood. But now understand. The things that crash. The things fearful and full of bliss. Things left in the middle. At beginnings and ends. The things we absentmindedly greet, Comes where two lines, Simply meet…
My existence started some long time ago. My purpose and love for art and literature highlighted and bolded in the rainbow. What I remembered, however, was not how I was born into this physical world but, how I came to experience thousands of people, things, animals and dimensions simply by just writing.
Where I’m from, St Vincent and the Grenadines, succumb to a dot on the world map but I wouldn’t want to be born anywhere else because, here can be anywhere with just a thought and a few words. I realized that at a young age, so my small country life of rain and sunshine with occasionally splashes of Japanese dramas, creative drawing and animes was rich in books much to my delight, much thanks to my mother and Aunt.
In a society where doctors and business men are painted in money and importance, I believed that the only way to escape my poor but rich life was for me to study medicine. I was extremely poor at it but tried extremely hard and in doing so I lost my reason for writing but most importantly, I forgot myself.
After graduating from college, I decided to join a local poetry club. It was there I found her, a girl with an old pen full of ink and a bottle of ideas, myself. Writing was dynamic, and inspiration was like a fragrance in a low breeze. Inhale too deeply and you’ll figure out what scent but inhale too often with not enough zest and it’ll be long gone with another right behind. Now, I continue to follow the wind, instead of waiting for inspiration, I let inspiration find me. Tomorrow, I hope to perfect my signature so I’ll smile when that stranger at one of my book signings compliment my penmanship as I write his or her name in one of my books.
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