A Griot's Tale

I wait...

I hope
Not in vain...

For the unveiling
Of a phenomenon
As timeless
As time itself...

For the manifestation
Of a sensation
That reaches
Far beyond
A weightless

-and temporal-

Emotion.

I wait...

For the freedom
Of an imprisoned
Adoration
That consumes my thoughts
By day
And plagues my dreams
By night.

My

Heart

Has

Been

Captured

Raptured
Into the realm of make-believe
Where noble Princes dwell
And take peasant girls
As their Queens.
Where honour and devotion
Conquer every sense of apprehension
And Happily Ever After
Is their undisputed destiny.

Wooed into the arms
Of this stately
Paramour,
My heart
Lays a-waiting
In purgatorial grandeur.

My mind is gripped
By the stories
Of his kingdom -
Captivated
By his ways,
His people -
Their language,
Their freedom.

I

Wait...

No,
Not in vain,
For every moment
With my Prince
Is a precious gift
To this lowly maid.

My delight rests
In the memory
Of his gentle touch
And the succulent taste of his kiss -

Oh...

the inescapable addiction
of his honey-coated lips
the intoxicating essence
of the sweat of his passion
as it bit by bit trickles down
to glaze his sun-bronzed skin

This peasant girl
Is enchanted by
Her Prince's
Sophisticated demeanour -
Her eyes are fixed on him,
There is no other
As charming as her suitor -
None who can dare to dream
Of seizing her favour.

And so

She waits...

I wait...

I know
Not in vain...

For although fairytale endings
Were never mine to be told,
The exquisite romance
Of this Prince and his Maiden
Will forever be
The favourite story
Of this most honoured Griot.