In reality we are the fibres of our mother’s being.
When the sun met my skin the dust long blew my grandmother to sleep
The voices of her children brought her to life, filled with nostalgia and tales of who she had been
I swear god found his reigning place somewhere between a mother’s thick skin, her heart and soul.
She wears her heart on her skin. She is beauty.
The part in the song where the melody kisses your feet lovingly and makes a home of your heart.

When we age we carry our mothers, they become fragile creatures in need of tender care.
Crying to erase the sight of a strong woman giving into age and flesh. I’m finding God in her every pore,
vessel and depth. But she bends to the wind and it threatens to take her away
In reality life is sad and tragic with varying shades of beauty and sunshine.
We grieve but we must keep breathing.

It’s been a rainy season for many suns. Feels like I have to recite life back to my mother so she knows she raised me right.
I marvel at the universe she is because I don’t want to know life without her
The revelation with heavy lids but no apology for living a wicked man’s tale.
These are the stories of our lives.
I hope you remember to narrate them to our children so they don’t forget us.
In tragedy, truth and merrily so they find themselves in our haunted and tired eyes and know they didn’t ridicule any divine nature.

We were merely byproducts of lost times trying to find our destinies in fortunes’ hands.
Our bodies merely vessels prone to illnesses and decay
Calling on my grandmother to show her how the world wears her daughter.
I seek healing in my sleep, I sleep at god’s feet.
I have sleepless nights about how we can never figure this life out.
We hope for better days, healing may be in the essence of who are.