True feelings by Cheik Sylla

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True feelings by Cheik Sylla

You are the stars and the sky,   

the tree and the leaves.   

You are the spices on my favorite meal   

and the heat of the sun.   

You are the flour of the baked bread  

and the jet suddenly in flight.   

However, you are not the sugar in the coffee   

the whip cream on the ice cream,   

or the cabin made of ice cream sticks.   

And you are certainly not the fresh breeze in the morning.   

There is just no way you are the fresh breeze in the morning.   

It is possible that you are the bird on the branch,   

maybe even the honey on the tea,   

but you are not even close   

to being the water in my cup.   

And a quick look in the mirror will show   

that you are neither the tie in my suit   

nor the Porch 911 in my garage.   

It might interest you to know,   

speaking of the plentiful imagery of the world,   

that I am the soft rays coming from the sun.   

I also happen to be the aurora borealis,   

the sand blown by the wind in the desert,   

and the beautiful bouquet on the table.   

I am also the ants climbing a tree   

and the bubble gum stuck under your shoe.   

But don't worry, I am not the stars and the sky.   

You are still the stars and the sky.   

You will always be stars and the sky,

not to mention sugar and—somehow—the black coffee.