Flights of Fantasy

Three blocks away the Sun stood still
Still gazing at the little girl on the sill
Who waited all day long
She waited for hawkers calling out
Monkeys mimic at their masters’ shouts
She watched everyone that passed along.

And asked her mother what it would be
The link between fact and fantasy
That looked so much the same
Albeit no flying mats or talisman
No singing wolves or UFOs in the barn
But treading the same lane.

The creations that God has made
Makes me bow in awe in circumspect
At everything I hear or see
For the hues we have, the sands, the blues,
The contours that keeps me glued
This could only be a fantasy.

The mother rose her dim-lit face
And twitched her cheeks – a smile no less
And sunk back into the oily dish
That saw the extravagance of the previous night
Thrown by the master, unaware of her plight
To buy a little oil and a little fish.

For although rice is cheap, pulses dear
And she could not afford it for fear
Of tough times lying ahead
If her drunk husband were to come back
And gather deceit and once again attack
Her miseries would be well-paid.

She twitched her cheeks to show a smile
Making sure not to curl them awhile
To show the marks inflicted the other night
A small scuffle between the man and wife
That challenged, mortified a mortal life
And that had developed into this fight.

For she could bear the visible pain
But not the sympathy of her children
Two lovely girls were they
Whose fate now bound to her own
That had no meaning, no life or tone
In such a complete dismay.

And although she could bear one more child
To protect herself from her husband wild
What good would that ever do
With no belongings to dispossess
A son would ameliorate her troubles no less
Or make assurances for her future too.

One more hand would need more feed
Better to stay off the seed
The two daughters were quite good
And to get them married in good houses
Some savings, some compromises
No less than asking for more food.

And to save herself the wrath of her man
A household she single-handedly ran
She would have to let go of her job
That had come by in difficult times
With no guarantor to bet a poor woman’s crimes
And with two children coming to work.

She could not ask for a good sum
Working for shillings without a hum
Keeping her children close to her
The thatch was scary, the husband more
To leave the children, she could not be assured
Bringing them settled her fear.

The husband had never been this bad
A good job lost and fortunes collapsed
As in most fairy tales
But no resurrection or saviour came
The miseries only grew to make him insane
Now biting nervously on his nails.

He drank all fortunes and vented on her
Taking off on his wife, his full temper
The tempest did not pass
No work to do, no where to go
Falling down on fruits he did not sow
Never coming back alas.

The child wondered at the beauties of life
Still ignorant of all this strife
Which in time, she would know
She’s thrilled with fiction minus friction
Unaware of diction or its addiction
A free spirit with nowhere to go.

What if her life would throttle to a nomad
Directionless, vague and sad
Chasing mirages in the sands
But that’s only if she survives it all
The times swallow the glories and the gall
Even if you clutch on it with either hands.

She rocks the little girl in the casket
Who’s yet to open her eyes to the wonders around
To scream at the beautiful sights and sounds
The innocence shining vividly on her face
A mother fighting the odd ways of the world
To protect and prevent from mishaps to befall.

Those hands are now soft and tender
Tending the hard look upon the mother’s face
That looks up a little through disgrace
To push her children into uncharted water
Of which the outcome would not be worth to see
Or something completely out of fantasy.