the amount of knots on Her head leave plenty surprised.
shocked and awed at Her radiance, an empress on the rise whose presence shines only while engaging rebels without disguise.
reality reads of lines aligning Her identity's strands with the source of Her roots or rather, where a fruit dies.
soil must be holding gravity accountable.
or a tree is making water portable.
it could also mean that parity is a must for anything round to remain at par, stable.
arable bedrock with no sand or dust or even dandruff.
its shoots remain round, brown, and spiral.
the pace of forming is related to its farmers' spinal.
a spring texture having a clear indication of internal artwork.
as if soil wanted to keep the reward of a seed to itself, but in a tussle, gives in to the father.
a gentle grower who's in a constant battle with barbers.
loggers deaf to dirt's communication with its kid.
a tree's gratitude in its winds.
hair like wool because earth's memories can't fit straightened strings.
naps galore since, what's a forest without weeds?!
skin shows dirt's fertility green.
the amass of clots in Her legs reveal a heave of a ride. chocked hands carve radial distances cropped in circles to press each portrait of those that took her for a temptress who abides. receded blood breeds toughened veins parlaying Her integrity stance amid course routes attempting to unwrap Her hide. Her boys' bust being exploited is a staple. both feet taken by cables. 'twas the engine that could read in the night that carries Her bound load, 'abandoned child on board', drunk on fables. i table writers-block, the weapon in Ishmael's words daring any addition to one sun. probability exists as written proof for a dual, plural, living earths columned to a final. yet space still serves one surface as its master of combing every little observant or as i call it, a soul whose sight is spiral. scripts and texts sculpting bare intimations stirred up by my little darling's heart taps. passive is to coy what waiting is to a story read on a reed busing informed herders. Her mettle alone brings about dance even when somber. losses of sheep can't damper Her continuation of wit. a palm's breeze breeds aptitude complete. protective air strikes fools desiring land's melodies blunted or treated as dim for all to see. tongues galore as after all, do waves not steer only where land hills?! the train that hauls Her child whole, indemnity for protecting its plants from being split."
'there is no end'
"....so keep it up jah children, living up to your roots, 'cause every tree stay up, by its roots...."
IN Woman I Trust.
Mitishamba ~ hair is the body's plant.
"the green gardener"