Semi-cocooned
in a palm-shaded
hammock, I watched
wrinkling waves weaving
to stilled silent shores,
splashing my mind
with keloid memories
of once anchored
offshore slave ships
waiting to disembarked
their sardine-like packed cargo
of my kingly and queenly
African ancestors.
The swelling tides
of these keloid memories
caused the ocean of teary
eyes to send slow streaming
waves flowing down the shores
of my face to tired trembling lips
salty frothing my tingling thirsty
tongue.
Meanwhile, through a watery
golden reflection, the sun having
completed its daily enlightening
task could be seen over the horizon,
wearily laying his herald head into
the assuring bosom of the sea:
overhead—V-formation—soared
a flock of dark-hued echoing birds.