This morning

This morning I shall make coffee

From the finest Arabic beans

With lashings of cream

And sugar cubes from Caribbean molasses

This morning I shall write of history

And the lost tribes of the Andes

And discover the reason for the why

And the mystery of pyramids.

This morning bears a resemblance

Of one’s past, but I feel optimism fuelling my pen,

Compelling me to write

In ways I have only dreamed of before.

This morning the air is crisp and cool

As its wisps through my ajar window

Breathing its breath from lands as far as the

Mountainous Pyrenees and Siberian icy landscapes

This morning, I am no longer old, but young

In spirit; my body strengthened by the spirit of love

I have rekindled from reading the word of God

And from having such Good friends in far off places.

This morning I shall muse over new beginnings

Where my inner light may shine,

Without being curbed by hostility and cruel envy from those who hate me

For being different and non-conformist

This morning I shall travel in my mind to a place

Once spent where the air was thick with life

And the spirit within me was allowed to flourish

Like a desert rose. Where people no longer

Stared empty stares but rejoiced in living

Where the sun never sets and love never grows cold.