Village boy Impressions

Morning hums low across the northern plain , And in that peace, I think of your grace . Your voice is like the hush before the rain A calm that cools the heat of the midday sun. You’re like shea trees that bless the open plain, Soft in their shade, yet firm as in their root. Barefoot in thought, yet bold in all you do, You carry joy the way the North holds sky.  Not loud – but deep, like truths the elders knew , A quiet fire that even storms can’t dry. You shine without intent or need to show, Your laughter smooth as shea butter on skin. I ask for nothing – only space to see The wonder that quietly shines through you.

This morning’s gold was not the sky,  But you - riding past King David’s Junction I saw you,  Turning the road into a quiet swoon  And I - just watching - forgot to breathe,  The sun rose gently, knowing its place;  It couldn’t outshine your grace. 29 July 2025. 

I tried to speak –   But every word fell backward into the pit of my chest. My tongue, tied with velvet ropes , could not utter a sound. My eyes, bound by that enchanted beauty , refused to look away. I could not ask, She did not answer. Yet in that hush, Everything passed between us –   like cool air through open windows And in my heart butterflies  danced.     No vows were said. No sonnets were spoken Only the thudding of my ribs, Sounding like mighty blows Each beat a quiet confession of love I could not articulate. In the stillness, My gaze wrote novels Her heart read like scripture .     When she walked right past me, The world returned in whispers – The birds resumed their song, The clocks remembered time. But I remained undone. My feet moved through air, My breath still caught in that space between almost and never. I stared with nothing in my hands, But everything in my he...