Between Steps

Ancestral fire, flames licking the dreams,
Of a knee, low in raised silence,
A sunny bud, brooding on black soils,

Am the kite, whose string is loosed from the root,
Flying, prying, praying,
I step between steps like a dancer,
But far from it for am a panther,
Black like midnight on an empty sky,
The stars speak to my soul in whispered hopes,
Dressing the wounds my father planted on my tongue,
Am the small prophet with a big Horn,
Blaring a child’s observed truth,
I cry not for milk but for water,
Kindness is offered by a nameless priest,
Whose motivation lay in the cradle of ancient texts,
Reminding the living to tread with care,
For wings have flown riches to a beggar and poverty to the king,
Am presently at nowhere,
Waiting to go somewhere,
Unsure of something,
Trusting no one but the milky way,
Where science studies gods and the mystics of earthlings,
Am the stairs staring at dusk with hopes of dawn,
Am in most dreams where miracles push disbelief to the edge,
And while here, I sing words that to many,
Sound like a fairy tale from Aesop’s stable,
For to lean too hard on the missing part,
Is to follow the dictates of naysayers,
Who know the end of all they hate with a common curse in tow,
Which resilience does deny the ear of one still baring his soul to sunrise,
From where truth rises and rests not,
Till it says it’s piece at the council of right without shades.