Womb of Wildflowers The security and warmth of your comfy nest Had become cramped and stifling overnight Your mornings filled with kiskadees’ zest
Pushed me over the edge for doomed flight
Land of jungles and immortal waterfalls
It seems I had outgrown your calming pond
I was a restless sea pacing your forest halls
Ready to drown out any umbilical bond
You knew that this day would come
Little wings were switched on for flight
You knew that I would not succumb
So you gave me freedom to sail my kite
Body and soul ready for the ultimate test
I was hungry and parched for knowledge
I crossed the Atlantic on dream-filled crests
Sealing off memories of country and pledge
At first it was freedom of another kind
This Ocean had many a spacious room
But the bitter truth had become intertwined
In this Ocean’s womb, all were untold blooms
Guyana, I still hear your tropical whispers
I see your shores on whims of delusions
Now in your waters I am dying to immerse
But the truth is I am ensnared in illusions
Guyana, the day I departed your loving womb I knew there would be no wildflowers to grace my tomb
The one who really started the magic of it all. From a child's angle, Susannah's Rust is an Enchantress. Even her weeds are bewitching and alluring.
Climbing strongly up her shady trees, are her heart's intertwining vines laden with bearings of all shapes and sizes reaching out to touch and hold you and then beg you to stay a little bit longer. And eternity becomes a mere hour when you are busy stamping her fern's white patterns all over your half-naked body.
Your older siblings will call these "jumbie umbrellas" but you see them as magical toadstools that fairies used for tables. And who need chairs when you can sit on tree stumps of the perfect height.
The Blood Wood tree sheds bearings just for you to break open and color your nails red for a tea party with the fairies. There are leaves large enough to become an umbrella on mystical rainy days. And just when you think you have it all, a single flower appears out of nowhere and entices you to pluck it although it is half way up the vines decorating a plum tree. And because there is no way to avoid this hypnotic calling, you climb the plum tree anyway not even noticing that your legs are badly bruised and bleeding by the time you get down but totally aware that the fragrance of this strange flower although totally crushed now still has the power to make you feel beautiful.
And Susannah's Rust is much more. When your mother is yelling for you to come and eat hot Dhal and Rice and pepper laden curried chicken, you are thankful for sun-ripened guavas and cashews and mangoes and wild, wild berries of all flavor. And there is always Sweet Demerara River just a few feet away from the house where you can plunge in and swim for eternity to infinity, her water helping you to drown out the voices of hollering parents.
You also know that like every other dream, this one must come to an end because you have outgrown this little pond called Demerara River and must attend school in Georgetown and swim with the Sharks of the Atlantic Ocean for survival. And you must grin and bear it when all the gal sharks thinks you are the country bumpkin of the pumpkin century. The guys sharks, a totally different kind of trouble waiting to block your path at every street entrance.
Oh, the plights of being a country gorl. But the good thing is that you know that once upon a weekend, you could always go back to this little pond and rejuvenate and bond with everyone who really knows your name.
Susannah hypnotized me with her simple magic until I grew up and found books, and I was thus able to travel to many other enchanting worlds. Ironic though, because when I want to escape this physical realm here in CA, all I have to do is pick up a good novel, and Susannah's Rust becomes the setting and I am once again... The Belle. (~_*)
inspired by Lizzie Gray Hunting for Treasure Islands in a world so vast
I boarded a web that sailed me back to the past
Deliciously surfing the waves of this endless net
I wondered if I had captured any emails yet
“You have mail”, popped up into my window
It was from a Lizzie I did not know
“I used to live in your hometown” she said
time to relive the magic, between the lines read
I eagerly emailed Lizzie without delay
Memories buried so deep, surfaced that day
We swam upstream Demerara to Susannah Rust
and uncovered the magic buried in stardust
We found so many faces from the past
We played “catch a cooper”, we had such a blast
The heady scent of the wild cocoa flowers lingered
As we licked mango juice dripping down our fingers
We made it to school on time the next morning
Sir was there to make sure we were learning
Eager to taste the juicy gossips of Demerara Woodland
We dare not ignore his wild cane on the other hand
All too soon we were nearing the end of memory lane
A lane Lizzie and I had promised to walk again and again
It was strange that she walked this lane before I was born
Yet here we were retracing steps we both had worn
All the fruit trees we must have climbed
I felt as if I had known Lizzie from another lifetime
Our paths had managed to cross and intertwine
our digital world destined to link with Demerara's vine
Deep in the pockets of my mind Are treasures beyond measure Of slumberous days left far behind To be reawakened at sole leisure
Your caring ways like drops of morning dew Whispering sweet memories of you and me Settling on parched flowers for free Are moments of you caring for all of me
My goals and dreams you propelled As I stood up tall and proud My principles and idealism you upheld As I crashed to the world aloud
Love without compromise that binds Your healing tear drops soothed all scars Able to disable dark and gloomy minds Big Sisters are really guiding stars
Deep in the pockets of my mind Are memories of one so fair and dear Seek each one and you will find A big sister beyond compare
Cuba For the taste of freedom of another kind Come with me to Fidel Castro’s Cuba Take a deep breath, relax, sleep, unwind Come play and swim and frolic and scuba Crime free, traffic free, pollution free Come romp and roam, be bold, be wild
A breezy whisper of an island garlanded by trees
Cuba is a nurturing mother for any child
On this crocodile-shaped, softly, sunkissed isle A place where people are so humble and kind Brimming with knowledge, beauty, sweet smiles Yet...Cuba is better known for cigars, you will find
What an unfair deal, her economic isolation
Yet this protects her wildlife with a vengeance Realizing this simple fact should be some consolation What with embargoes and neighborly arrogance
Hemmingway’s famous scrawl stands tall On Havana’s Bodeguita del Medio café’s wall While you sip mojito, mint-flavored Cuban rum Re-read “the old man and the sea” and succumb To Cuba, wild and free...Majestic Island of the Caribbean
He was one of the pillars supporting my Universe. The day he died was also the day my world came crumbling down. Written for my valiant nephew...Sunil R. Rampersaud
3rd August 1988 - October 29th, 2005
It seems as if it was only yesterday When I last spoke to you on the phone "Sunil, what would you like to be one day" And I heard the pleasure in your tone
“I want to own a bicycle repair shop And I never want to see school ever again But my mom doesn’t want me to stop And everyday it drives me insane”
Boys will be boys; I had to agree I spoke with your mother that very same day
How to help you to be by letting Sunil be
We saw you growing into a fine young man, anyway
Forever seventeen, yes, this is how it seems You come here dear nephew, age after age as if on cue In one lifetime, you have already been here twice Every generation this is the norm, you come in similar forms
For you are Timehri true and through You are the Sun under skies of blue A daredevil kind of angel without wings With smiles to grease up rusty old things
Forever the bicycle repair adept Flitting in and out of trees Swimming out of your depths Laughing with the breeze
You are the cars flying by on high Yes, you somehow seemed to know Your bicycle is your portal to the Sky You are only here for the show
I close my eyes and I see you there Sunil, laughing, Sunil, riding up and down Yes, I see now that you will always be here You have not really left this town
You never seem to make it beyond seventeen It is as if you come to replay this particular scene Do you know I die each time you go away too soon Why can’t you live here for many, many moons
What purpose would this really serve Sunil, it is as if you want to be preserved A boy with laughing eyes Revealing blue, blue skies Riding up and down on his bike of thrills Forever seventeen, a destiny already fulfilled The Starbringer
For Kim Yvonne George The grass is greener than the greenest green Tiny flowers trodden upon by little feet Hot and bothered and her hands not so clean Sweetly she smiles for water thirsting to replete
And that’s how I remembered her angelic face Filled with patience and love and care When life seems totally lacking of pure grace Along comes Kimmy with an abundance to share
The water is warm and as alluring as the sky Floating debris bringing tides of defeat Sad and broken and eyes not so dry Her smile of courage remains soft and sweet
And that’s how I remembered her angelic face The stars in her eyes reaching out to light up smiles Of life’s heartaches that is so hard to erase Don’t worry for Kimmy will keep them away for miles
The day is done and the night is seductively dark Harsh lamps have come out to chase the stars away Tired and worn for life is no walk in the park Yet she will wait up while u rejuvenate your day
And that’s how I remembered her angelic face Rosy cheeks filled with joy and laughter and fun Of the things of life that is so hard to replace
At first it was freedom of another kind
Your older siblings will call these "jumbie umbrellas" but you see them as magical toadstools that fairies used for tables. And who need chairs when you can sit on tree stumps of the perfect height. 
that your legs are badly bruised and bleeding by the time you get down but totally aware that the fragrance of this strange flower although totally crushed now still has the power to make you feel beautiful.
little pond called Demerara River and must attend school in Georgetown and swim with the Sharks of the Atlantic Ocean for survival. And you must grin and bear it when all the gal sharks thinks you are the country bumpkin of the pumpkin century. The guys sharks, a totally different kind of trouble waiting to block your path at every street entrance.
I eagerly emailed Lizzie without delay
