I Will Wait for Thunder

The nights get anxious when they think of me.
The days await dusk for a momentous sigh of relief
The cold gets chills when I speak, when I whisper.
I want to break into a monologue, maybe a hum, maybe a wail
And tell my secrets.

I want to tell my deepest story to deaf men,
They will hear not, they will judge me not.
I want to tell it to the blind men,
They will see not the pain in my eyes
the tears in my eyes
the streaks of tears on my face.
They will not see the softness on my face like the morning bird’s chirp
They will not see the smile like the cold breeze in the blazing sun.
I want to tell my deepest story from behind a veil.

I want to tell my dark story to the roses
But I’m afraid the thorns will deem me unbefitting and prick
I want to tell it to the sea and oceans
But I’m afraid I will displease the sea gods
And break the calm of the waves to an unrelenting tsunami.
Maybe I will tell the wind
But in between the sighs and sobs
I’m afraid that I’ll turn it to a tornado

I want to tell my inmost story
But my words,
My words are sharp and unforgiving like the lightning
Felling trees,
Striking streets.
Maybe I will tell it to the high noon sun
But I’m afraid it might scotch the earth beneath my feet.

I will tell the dark pregnant clouds, and when they hear, they will cry.
I will tell my deepest dark story to the storm and thunder
There is already incessant raging to match my own
I want hail.
I want gruesome hail
I want earthquakes
I want hurricanes.

I want to tell all my poignant stories,
But I will wait,
I will wait for the storm and thunder.

Georginah Ndanu
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