With Bougainvillea Clippings In My Hand Poem by Sarah Mkhonza

I walk with two clippings in my hand,
One of yellow another of red bougainvillea,
These tell me my world is in balance,
For the thin twigs with thorns on them,
Tell me the world makes you what you are,
Neither red nor yellow but ready for these,
Sharp thorns to prick your sides daily,
And then look at you with rosy eyes,
Like the flowers on these clippings.

They lie here ready for the dump,
Where they will wither and not remember,
That I once held them dear just before,
One of the greatest storms in my life.
Where thorns came with hail and sent me,
Reeling to the dump like these twigs.

They say gorillas would eat these raw,
And swallow everything beauty or none,
And then forget they have eaten them too early,
Before the twigs became fully grown,
Hence my worry that I have trimmed too much,
And not left some for a rainy day.

The gardener in me does not know
When to cut off trimmings on the bud,
For it is this that carries life on,
If one is to trust these clippings I hold,
To remake the dump into a fresh piece of ground.

Never trust yourself when doing such a task,
It is only the experts who know how to clip,
That should walk to the dumpster with wheel barrows,
Full of what is pruned with the shears of life.

The rest of us are just following along,
Doing tasks we saw done my our parents,
With shears as big as the ones in there,
Where my father hung them on the garage wall,
There they rest till today because of size,
For they were always too heavy for me to use,
Thus I walk with only two clippings in my hand,
Till the end of time.

They say bougainvillea never dies,
It resuscitates even the older ones,
And breathes life at the dump,
Waking dumpsters and telling them,
It is time to dance with roses,
And crown the earth with beauty,
For such is the task of these,
Who grow with thorns that prick us daily.