I recall in vivid living colour
the gentle, careful swooshes of sea breezes
singing conch shell sounds to cupped ears.
I can still feel the crisp rains
playing reggae on rooftops,
as floors creaked with excitement.
I can still hear the soft aromatic messages
Tapping on my shoulder
to renew life.
I recall freezing time, at times,
Long enough to whisper to birds
And dance with waves
Or just to savour the aroma
of freshly baked bread
traipsing along streets to greet me.
I can still hear the baritone voices
of fathers shepherding dew-freshened mornings
flavoured with stealth sunrises,
fresh milk, hot chocolate and scotch bonnet scents
or the robust chants of roosters
roused by the shy morning air.
I remember the musicality of warrior feet;
a cavalry of determined fathers
armed with the will to manipulate weather,
to saddle the excitement of dawns
and quiet the cool rush of winds descending from the hills
as they coaxed vegetable fields to refresh life.
I remember mothers who became fathers
and carried life on their backs,
cajoled and marshalled time
and bent it to their will.
I remember them,
those forgotten champions;
the neglected, overlooked
heroes who knew how to walk on water
and made us all whole,
back in those good old days.