Where?

There must be a place where
My tears go when they leave my face.
There must be a place where
My sobs nestle when they leave my bosom.

I think I have seen it in a dream,
Where I was flying over and feeling happy to be alive.

There must be a place made of dreams,
Where crystallised tears are bricks,
Shimmering majestically but proudly showing what
Lies inside with no shame,
And sobs are the soothing winds that fuel a love
That does not demand or question what should be.

Oh! Yes! I have been there,
And seen the daisies made from children’s laughter,
Tangled with the thistles from their cries,
Dewdrops from their song.

There is a place where men bear babies instead of axes,
And sing praises to their courageous wives.
There is a place where women are hunters,
Ever laden with plenty and they clap the rain into being.

I have felt it when I’ve wandered into my thoughts,
Where I find myself walking backwards into
Unexplored times that still stand tall in their
Untouched virginity.

There should be a place, where clocks are a myth
That is taboo to explore,
Where time is the wind that blows in any direction,
And whispers through the hairs of the aged.

I know you will not believe that my inner voice,
Chose to lead me to it in my trance
So I could see for myself,
So I will not tell you that:

There is a place you will never see because
You are imprisoned in concrete, glass and steel,
And your eyes are boxes,
They choose to see what you are told…
And… You believe.

Frank Malaba © 2008