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Let’s meet again

Gomolemo Legoale

My dear friend, your company is a warm fireplace, it gathers cold people around and lights up the space. Your presence is filled with godliness, your eyes carry authority and your words are those worthy to be notes. Our meeting fills up the glass of my heart each time. It is always at the same place, province of business; city of wisdom; road of class and in the estate of jazz music.

Old man, your body weighs your young heart. Your ship of excitement is anchored by reality, yes you are aging up.

I noticed how your cheeks are battling to pose, how your memory is constantly jogging and how you now find your joy in silence. I have seen you outside your mansion, although it bothers me how you get a front row seat – on an empty paint drum – of the activity on the main roads. You stare at activity as it paces with your heart, activity moves like music and your heart dances to it.

I am an entrepreneur; I see and find opportunity in problems. This I learned from you. You have terrible eyesight but beautiful vision. With your physical eyes you burn a hole to see something, with your spiritual eyesight, you see beyond it all. I love the way you walk, small feet with quick small strides but a long journey. Your palette for life has always had colourful flavours: hip hop; art work; ballet; wine; kingklip; mountains and hotels.

I wish to meet with you again, only this time stretch my legs and my ears while we walk in conversation. Tilt my smile; straighten my mind as it gets ready to store the knowledge of a wise man. People have meetings in suits – we get hosted by the streetlamps, the calm winds greet us, the pavement transforms into a red isle while we talk. Brother, I need the walk with you to guide me through life. I aspire to be a serial businessman, a brand, hope for the disadvantaged and confirmation for the rich. Brother, I need you to help me realise the true beauty of life, and the art of living that life. Money looks like my beanstalk and I am tempted to climb as the ground underneath me is a quicksand of life. The beanstalk has thorns of greed that inject into my fingers, how can I resist? It creates this agitation to get to the top and excretes perspiration of desperation. I climb because I have hope that above, there is better ground, that above is the sky and has clouds of contentment. I climb because I am in love; in love with the possibilities; in love with my dream; in love with the images which form as caretakers in my mind …

 I am in love with the thought of you and I am dying quickly but living in eternity, I am in love with the possibility that God may have a section of His very own personality in you. Your smile is all so graceful, your heart is breath-taking, your mind is jewellery and your walk is class.

Can I walk with you again?