I remember it all
The touch, scent, feeling and the eye gliding in my grandmother's shack.
I remember it as the place where we all rally.
Subsided all our deferentials and ally our heads as we slept on the floor.
I remember being woken by a whistling kettle when dawn chased dusk.
Then the warm steam would visit the roof as the kettle starts to rattle and dance.
As the sound of the little lid on the stem stops, I would hear the sweet riddle hum.
Prefiguring a blissful dance in my ears as my grandmother prepares tea and warms yesterday leftovers.
I would slightly open my eyes to a lovely morning, knowing that I am in caring hands.

I remember it all
The laughter, the smile that visited my lips, hue and tears.
The cold morning train trips cause grandma was punctual.
Warmth hampers through the palms that rounds us with smiles.
Liberates the confusions that stay in our youngs.

A out spoken storyteller, a member of women in church that reflected the importance of Sunday's school that sometimes felt truancy before faith.
The fainted never gain the fruits that bears souls.