Caged Spirit

He rubbed his hands together to keep warm. He could see the vapours as he exhaled. Never had he experienced anything like this in Guyana. Ahh...Guyana, warm tropical country, home of friendly people, no worldly cares and good food.

He remembered scaling the neighbour's fence in Lusignan to "take" a few mangoes. He still chuckled at the fact that he could thief Buxton Spice mangoes in Lusignan, he thought the name should be changed for the villages they were found in. So he told himself that the mangoes were Lusignan Spice mangoes. Those were good old days, days when innocence and ignorance abound and fun was always the option. He thought the villagers created the phrase "lil bai bicycle nah get brakes" after being exposed to him.

The stolen weekend swim in the black water canal was one of his favourite past times. He wondered why they call it black water, it was always brown. He loved to see the punts loaded with cane being pulled though the canal. The older boys would tell him that the passage "was tight like a virgin" meaning it was a close fit. He didn't know what a virgin was then, and probably has never encountered one. They would usually run alongside the punts and remove sugar canes stems, it was a competition for the bravest. A few years back, one of the boys was pulled overboard when he couldn't get the cane loose and he was crushed between 2 punts.

He remembered jumping into that cold icy water in the middle of a hot day and feeling the heat of the sun drying off the water from his skin while half of his body was still in the cold water. He remembered they told him that his "seed would swell up" if he spent more than 3 hours in the water. He got out and let the sun soaked up the water from his skin, he felt like an ant under a magnifying glass. A light wind would blow across him in intervals and the temperature change would give him a fuzzy feeling inside.

He exhaled once more and looked forlornly though the vapour stained glass that separated him from the concrete jungle; feeling like the invisible prison walls and contained his wild spirit was now manifesting itself into reality. He lowered his gaze then walked back to the coffee pot, poured himself a hot cup and inhaled the steamy aroma. He took a bite out of the cold ice apple that was in his dinner bag; oh how he longed for a taste of that juicy Lusignan Buxton Spice mango, he chewed the ice apple with a discontented look.

He shook his head then went into the changing room, got into his janitorial suit, pushed the mop bucket along the floor and cried inwardly.

The rift

I looked over the edge of the cliff
Below tufts of clouds hung suspended as if time has frozen
A few scrawny branches interrupt the seemingly smooth surface
They struggled against the hard rock and prevailed
They stood up in victory
Birds glide under the gentle wind, gracefully moving up and down
Indeed time stood still, indeed the magic is real
Below the plains gently rolled along
A few scattered trees, a herd of cattle, a hurrying stream
It seemed as if at one time the plain and the plateau were one
They struggled against each other, fought for freedom
One moved up, the victor
The other moved down, he hung his head in shame
His tears still flow
Time never healed this wound, the exposed rift lay barren
Except for the few branches who dared to hold on
Brothers mourn for each other silently within their hearts
One disguised it as a stream, the other masked his tears in the clouds