Sanctitude.for Ayanyemi Precious
If the mustard seed could hold my faith, what
then is of these sand grains if they do not
fleet as roving clouds at the kick of you?
if the fluster of cold embers cooks the
fire, what then are these raining dusts if they
don't remind you of being a Black woman?
one that owns the mirror of the world in
a secret place.
If these conger waves from coastal waters
walk their way to the grave, what then is the
trapped wind doing as the time fleets if it does
not tell you that living isn't forever
yet is it forever like... eternal,
for man lives on after passing away.
man lives in your head, in the dust of his
grave. and he lives with his name in an edge
of a lover's heart. she is a lover.
She is the preciousness that glows in the
beauty of her elegance — her black beauty;
isn't it her cosmos identity
that even in its pleasantness has the sourness
of this space endurable? for, when beauty
glows, what reigns ever is in the eye;
of it that sees it and he that praises it.
if beauty is not in the eye, what then
is at the winking hairs? you are not the
beauty before the eye, but it in the eye.
and death cannot take beauty, it keeps it
in the frames of the mind like the key and
its knob. such is your beauty, beloved.
"words from the innocent mind"
Akinwale Peace Akindayo
Live long and prosper, Precious.