I Am

Likeness of a watercolour painting
I am, mere brush strokes, honouring
The Master Painter’s loving-hand
Painted, upon canvas of desires
Framed, by enervating betrayals
And when flowing tears
Dissolve the paint, corrosive streaks
And drowned colourful phantom, I am
Droplet by droplet, counting my years
Washed away smears at best, I am
Hanging still on an abandoned wall
Imperious walls of destiny’s galleria
Bequeathed to unborn Asian-Caribbean eyes
Their smart gazes:
 “are all a case of knives” [1]
  “Wounding my heart”

Warped, wet, colourless in despair
Closest to The Artful Hand, I am
Drowned deepest in the sea of denial
And unbeknownst to most hearts
Mine Master’s hand paints continual

Likeness of a painted Ewer of porcelain
I am, a mere fist of clay, honouring
Master Sculptor’s loving-hand
Baked, by bewailing flames of ardour
Painted, by Persian dyes of dolour
And by The Majesty’s Hand, I am
On a pedestal at Prophet’s court
Over flowing with milk and honey, I am
Lowered to serve the Chosen One [2]
By svelte arms of my Caribbean love
On and on and on… I am


[1] George Herbert

[2] The Prophets


Background: Starving Haitian girl.



© 2004-2001,  Dara O. Shayda