Goda is an Egg,
Goda is a Caterpillar,
And Goda is a Butterfly,
(all at the same time).
Goda is as patient as stone,
eroding into sand,
Which, for Goda is an instant.
Goda is the grains of sand in my shoe,
Goda is the water in my glass
(and the glass too).
Goda is the glug-glug,
As it comes from the jug.
He is a she,
She is a he,
He is hard and soft,
And she is soft and hard.
Goda is she,
Goda is me and you,
Goda is we and they, and poo.
Goga is an uncontrollable force.
Gofa is dead and growing –
Self-ingesting and recycling,
A bubbling stew of liveliness –
And everyone has their own tastes!
What a wonderful stew! – I say.
I recognise Goda;
I see it constantly,
I know it as I know myself – but I just can’t remember…
Cos we’re talking endlessly instead of listening.
I can’t speak his name, or tell you exactly what she looks like,
As much as I’ve tried.
And others have tried too,
In Art, Music, Science, Maths and useless words.
Goda is all the colours of infinity,
All the spectrums you can’t see, or haven’t thought of yet.
Gova is a fading dream,
Hidden behind a mirror –
That beautiful mysterious bastard.
The eggs, caterpillars and butterflies,
We are a jigsaw puzzle,
but with a piece of us destroyed by words.
So we’ll never see it finished.
Goda’s forgotten what it looks like anyhow,
Chuckling throughout the cosmos;
As silent, and as reverent, as sliced fruit,
Like a mother,
watching-over her baby
learning to walk.
Poem ‘Silent Fruit’ and artwork ‘I have a healthy obsession with avocadoes’ by Daniel Smyth