It has been a while since I have written poetry. Still a bit rusty but with spending the weekend sick with flu, all I did was read, write and sleep. The below poem is something that came out of that process:
It is because of your kisses to my forehead and temples
that my baby hairs curl and flourish the way they do,
not even a brush can tame them into compliance.
I notice them a lot more as they sneak a peek
to say ‘hello’ to me in the mornings
when I brush my overgrown cornrows.
Scattered tissues, medicine, and delirious with flu,
I think of the missed moment to fall asleep on your chest in 5 minutes
or when I am wrapped in a topic that occupies my mind and my hands do more talking,
whilst you patiently nod with your “lentombazana- izoba-inkinga-in-my-life” stare
followed by your “I-hear-you” grin, hands suspended in the air.
When my feet grow cold, wearing thermal socks is not a choice,
for I would rather opt to keep my toes near your feet
because you are a ball of constant warmth.
Weird, because though born in the winter month of May,
you are the Sun in motion that a Sun-child like me loves to take in,
This was meant to be a Haiku,
short and sweet.
But you and I know nothing is ever short with me,
except for my nails and height, obviously.