Where the tree branches are wide
Enough for men to take naps
where animals make their home
where strangers are no longer strangers and
Wanderers wander no more
We screw up our faces seeing strangers
Two moons back
A young lady visited the neighborhood
Luring lads and soiling their innocence
men trail after her into the mysteries of the night
And erasing their memories of home
People talk, people always talk
“I heard she’s also from the other side of the great ocean”
They said of a new lady in town
“No, she entices other women’s men too”, they continued
They care less if the life of one they know
could not define the thousands they know not.
No one from the other side of the ocean is same
Even before she passes
Disgust and anger await her
Fingers point, tongues wag, and eyes stare
“She’s another destruction lurking in the dark”
No one wants to know her for her own self
But when no one is watching or prying
She prays to the One above to bless her hustle
And even then,
None sees her play with the little children
But for an old woman leaning on her bent staff
Watching with wise dreamy eyes
Waving her gnarly long fingers
As the stranger trudges tirelessly
Her eyes betraying vain hope for acceptance.
the roses petal 