Trees grow unheard yet they speak volume of our existence. I'm Mitishamba and my fundamental belief is that there is no difference between myself and soil (a universal constant, alias Ishmael), with the only diverging and converging factors being what I let seed - the eye of roots is trees - Miti. Whereas some are scared of the sun and turn into cavers, I easily conquer it thus reflect my shadow and become one with myself, no footsteps. I'm a tree farmer - Mitishamba.
My sentences are menaces to your innocence
with the more minutes spent questioning the messages
rather than embracing it.
Captured moments turned into rhythmic storage bins
fermenting emotions seen
but actively hidden through obvious means.
Prevention is better than a curator since
my records draw from actual comments' seeds
translated into an imagination for a historian's read.
Consider this the lighthearted me
known through the reflection of measured things
stretching into anyone's existence carrying the heaviest zeal.
Mitishamba ~ Splitting lines hair envy.
"kudhani ni majani"