The Orishas carved mountains,
struck oceans,
shaped the earth with force.
And still, nothing grew.
They had left her out.
Oshun, golden, laughing,
hips like rivers,
whose charm binds what power alone cannot.
They thought sweetness small.
They thought warmth trivial.
They did not see that life bends to tenderness.
She came with her calabash pressed to her chest:
water fresh and alive,
honey,
fertility,
warmth,
the knowledge that binds.
She poured it over stone, over soil, over air.
Rivers rose.
Plants unfurled.
Animals stirred.
The world remembered itself.
Even sweetness can be withheld.
She stepped back.
Rivers slowed.
Soil split.
The air sharpened.
The Orishas ached for her presence.
She poured again,
not in anger,
but in choice.
Life returned because she allowed it.
Shango refused to bend.
She brought honey to lips,
warmth to hands,
patience to eyes.
Fire softened.
Even thunder learned tenderness.
Ogun hid in shadow.
She walked the forest alone,
hips swaying,
calabash glowing.
Honey tasted.
Anger cracked.
Rage softened.
Spirit returned.
She does not defeat; she awakens.
She weeps, too.
Her tears become streams,
her sorrow a river,
golden and alive,
impossible to hold.
The world drinks.
She is hers alone.
She carries mirrors polished to sunlit fire.
Not for vanity.
To reflect pride, longing, impatience, wounds.
Beauty becomes clarity.
Reflection becomes power.
Self-knowledge becomes strength.
Oshun walks among us, human and divine.
Sweetness and strength bound in a single body,
giving and withholding,
teaching and holding.
The river, the honey, the calabash, the mirror
she reminds us:
life is tender.
Power is soft.
Boundaries are sacred.
To recognize her is to see her fully:
golden, radiant, warm, dangerous, irresistible.
Without her, the world would forget how to breathe.
Passionately penned, CG. Another excellent write with amazing imagery my friend. Great read. Appreciate you.
Damian
Thank you, Damian. I’m glad the piece spoke in color for you. Always grateful for your steady read and presence. Appreciate you too, my friend. 🙂
Cor blimey Mistress C .. I rushed through my first viewing because my tea was getting cold .. but then I kept coming back, in my attempt to take everything in so much more slowly and fully .. In the end I thought f it, who cares if it gets cold, this is just too bloomin good to waste time on anything else .. Mucho respect my fine literary Buddy .. Neville 🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻👍
You made me smile, Neville. Cold tea is a noble sacrifice. Grateful that you let the piece take its time with you. Much respect, my friend. Your presence on the page is always appreciated. 🙂