Today I reclaim my mortality and groundedness.
I long for my imperfections and scars,
So I am clipping my wings.
I embrace all my emotive impediments that
Befall me as I choose to crawl and jostle with the scum of the earth.
Being your seraph was not without pain.
It sliced my core with blunt numbness as I tried to be your best.
You cushioned every blow that sought me out but now I beg that you
Let me feel pleasure and pain in equal share.
Not to worry about singeing my wings as I swoop past the scorching sun on your command.
I need the itch of hunger in my belly and
I keep toying with the idea of sandpaperedness of throat.
Will you allow me the pleasure of accepting my
Call to humanness?
You fed me crumbs from your banqueting table,
I feasted on them with a keen appetite.
The smoke from your cigar, like incense of the gods,
Beckoned me into your unrelenting clasps.
I writhed and wriggled in vain.
Today I sit in your grasp, lips cracked,
Waiting for yet another crumb to fall my way.
Is this what has become of my inheritance?
Today I return your silk and cashmere and reclaim my burlap.
Today I return your borrowed silver and gold cups
For my gourds that served me in my time of inner renaissance.
Today, I fall back into my flesh that feels and
Yearns for the soothing caress of another soul.
Today I free myself from your mastery of mind
And accept my finite existence that wraps
Me in metaphors of infinity.
Frank Malaba © 2011
Frank Malaba Prosetry 