ANOTHER GRANDMA PIECE: PAINTS IN POTS

It is paint given in plain pots

Another shot being added to the past shots

You can make it a whisky shot

Or make it a fanta shot, I now reckon

My grandma told me so

And put it in these see through words

***

“Dear Tawiah,

My only eye in this huge but small world,

Never expect more from the new

You have to work to use your paint

To paint the world as you move along

It is paint given to be poured or used

***

There are painters who pour into pots

All eyes see are the debris of pouring

None sees the colour they were given

And they end up looking for paints of others

Never appreciating whatever they were or will be given

If they see their faults, they learn to approach the future

***

There are painters who pour away their paints

In anger and lack of appreciation

Some know not what to do with theirs

But none needs to be tutored to paint

Some pour thinking they hurt their makers

Little do they know they make them heavy shoes,

Heavy filthy shoes which hinder their moves

***

There are painters who use their paints well

They mix their colours for eyes to see

And in front of their walls with their brushes in hand

They care not at all about their tainted clothes

And work to attract other painters 

Some hands pause to applaud happy paintings

Some mouths pause to critique the other painters

Some legs get rooted in front of awesome paints

As some legs run from other paints

But what is most important is how fulfilled the painters are

***

It is the same pot

Left at the gate of renewed light and dark travels

It blocks the path

And forces all to touch

In order to move

So think about your paint

Think creativity

Think beautifully about your handiwork

And follow through by painting

Never think about what the path holds

The path holds no treasure,

It awaits your treasure

Ones it will hold with pleasure

So think of the paint that will lift people like planes

Into the land of dreams

Ones they will be motivated to add to

Never think of what others might make for you

In the end, we are what we make

No gift can hug to make one fulfilled

Once this seeps in

You surely will survive

I give you this piece of my mind

I hope it revives you”

***

Then, I never understood

Now, I absolutely do

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2014