Eat, pray, love, grow
By Amanda Addo
There is a village where their love is kneaded by hand, and their bellies taste the buds of flowering prayers.
Their pain and tears are tethered to power lines of kindness.
The children are taught in schools of self love
so when the vices come, their eyes sear with a heart to give freely. Planting fig trees of understanding when no one's looking. So freely as you get, freely as you give.
They eat this porridge of wisdom from their calabash. This bowl is their unsung hero. It knows them. They use hands from ancestral angels, lifting it up as their eyes are watching God. You won't arrive for this is the path. The become will fall wayside, and soon you will just be.
A world consumed by the nutrient of love