The River She Became

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.

Reviews

[Perdition]

I've walked through every stanza for hours and found myself immersed within your fountain, where I find myself wondering about the realities now within Nigeria, or at the same waters, simply posed among side amazing perspectives, ruminations, and wisdoms over these gods and their powers, and what reflects in their deeper inner bounty that life holds in far too many conditions overlooked. We are all sometimes oblivious and sometimes just too busy for the musings. I'm certain I'll return to walk your honey rivers in the depths of gods and wonderful musings~

[Curly Grace]

Thank you for walking so deeply with it… Those waters rise from old stories and the places they still breathe through us. I’m glad the currents carried you, and you’re welcome to return to them anytime.

[DavidGeo]

This was like taking a mild hallucinogen at a live Enya show.

You ever smoke some grass and listen to the Orinoco Flow? it's a good time man.

[Curly Grace]

No, I haven’t… but I may have to give it a try now ;)

[Trace]

Where did you ever learn to write like this? I could go on and on, but.... WOW pretty much covers it.

Beautiful poetry ✨️ 😍

Amazing
Huggs Trace

[Curly Grace]

Trace, thank you. Your kindness means more than you know. I’m glad the piece reached you.