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February 2004 Vol. 6 No. 2 | Submit stories, articles, letters, essays, poetry here! |
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| I am Nigel S. Daring. I have been
writing poetry for over ten years. My poetry reflects my feelings,
my experiences living in New York City, and my aspirations. I put a
point in each poem and each short story I write. I hope in my
writings to open my readers' minds and to contribute towards human
progress.
My dream is to publish a book of poetry that captures the pan-African experience, or at least a snippet of it. My intent is to inspire our people to work together and relive our ancient African pride both on the continent and in the diaspora. |
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May morning curse the night
May death fall upon this wretched body in sleep
May the deep waters suck me in without remorse
May the earth claim me without hesitation
Sweat creeps down the folding mounds of my belly to sour my manhood
All my pride damaged in a fight against the stench invading my nostrils
In light of these chains suffocating my dignity, my only movement is restless
thought
Disbelief forms my face an impervious rock that seals tears of relief within the
supersaturated sponge of my soul
Only cold carvings staring at me in a dungeon, indelibly imprinting the mind
with a ghastly memory
Masks covering many dark feelings: anger, loss, uncertainty, hate, etc. etc.
My face also lost in someone else’s head as a fixture of inhumanity
Many languages mumbled, but one understood devoid of words
Strangers yet brothers, enemies yet friends
From diverse sunny homes huddled in one dark hollow
For what crime could such punishment be meted?
All I can remember from the fated night was my mother shouting “Shango, Shango,
where are you? Shango, my child, where’ve you gone? Shango, are you alright?”
Her pained calls constantly seep through the conscious blockages I’ve put up
I never got to say goodbye, hug her and cry
Not to her, not to my children, not to my brothers, not to my sisters, not to my
friends The night severed me from life
Here I am a nameless, faceless creature
“Another one”, the only meaning I get from this gibberish
“Another one” thrown in the waters to intimidate everyone
“Another one” who has broken away and broken up, finding freedom in the sea of
separation
“Another one” who has faced reality and started a fight
“Another one” who has begun the return journey, futile though his personal
effort may be
“Another one” part of me drowned in sorrow
Like this roach twirling on my head, revolutionizing my thoughts
This rat eating the best of what I’ve been fed; man shall not live by bread
alone
This fly drinking the spittle off my lips; within flows an eternal wellspring of
living water
This mosquito sucking my blood; this vampire will not take my love
This bee dancing on my breath; even if the sacrifice is death
I will be free
This man, he called one of us “Anthony”
He called another “Matthew”, but he would not respond
So he beat him to an incalculable degree
Then this man turned and called me “Mark”
I will be free. “Shango”
“Mark”
“Shango, Shango, Shango”
Even with mounting volume
“Shango, Shango, Shango, SHANGO”
and he…
I am anger
I am the child of inequality, injustice, disrespect and oppression
I take rest in the human soul, growing like cancer, consuming it,
Unless released in total when I can waste away outside at the object causing my
birth
But I can never completely die: I reside in memory, remaining in dormancy
I am a seed planted in the soul, nourished by the water of frustration
I act as a poison whose effects intensify with time until the being is destroyed
– the only antidote is prior release
I make no friends; I am an enemy to the soul in which I am rooted and to the man
who caused my forming
Men try to excuse me away, pretend I am not there, conquer me with religion
I laugh at these self-denying fools, knowing the only way for my demise is their
facing reality
I have driven men to madness and suicide because they ignore me
I have witnessed them try to release me on friends, family and community
But I can’t escape their being that way
The secret of my fall is in my direct release at the source of my planting
Unless I am properly addressed, I’ll forever remain in some form or the other
Those who have me inside may die, but I will be in their children and their
children’s children,
Growing and growing with each generation, encapsulating a nation,
Driving those weak souls to try to attempt to my release on friends, family, and
community
I am ANGER
I have found a lasting home in the enslaved and colonized African
And their descendants
The wide blue cleanses itself on the incoming waves
Perhaps it will cough up a message from home
I have certainly thrown in my longing affection,
While every minute wishing the tide would swoon over me (engulf me like the
Jonah this man taught me about) and make me the message
It is Sunday without Sun
Let it be called Sadday
The man claims all the other days
He’s given me today, yet it is not mine
He still has a chain on my mind and in mourning I spend my time
I cast a net fishing for sustenance
But all I seize are the burdens I’ve thrown out
Might as well, let the fishes swim; the sea is their place of rest
Let the birds fly; heaven is their nest
But me, where am I? Can anyone understand my cry?
I am a fish out of water, a bird in a cage
There’s a ship in my far sight; another me contained in its horrid belly
Yet the vessel serves as my floating wish for a return trip
Oh, if I could only walk upon the sea like Jesus
I would walk to my own religion
All the required days and nights I would walk without rest
Each moment (each step) would bring me closer to peace
Rather than the hopeless days and nights I spend serving this beast
I dream of home
Home, where I can laugh with ease
Home, where my cry is for the dead
Home, where I can love without fear
Home, where I can greet each day with a smile
Home, where I can raise my children
Home, where I can enjoy the fruits of my labor
Home, where I can feel respected
Home, where true justice reigns supreme
Home, where there is peace
Home, where my culture thrives unabashed, unrepressed
The Promised Land
Traitor
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Trapped
Tenant
Lies
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It happened on a night when I was singing a song
Found myself cargo singing my song
Turned a man’s property in another land singing my song
My sweat and breath taken for crops singing my song
Well I’ve been traveling this road called Time oh so long
My inside, outside, day and night were all one
Somehow I became trapped inside a man all night long
All I can do is sing my song for an expression
My children, I have nothing to give them
But the story of being condemned
This rift between us I want to mend
So I give them my song to flow with time’s trend
I sing my song from this dark place to which I’ve been disgraced
I sing this song about how I’ve been conned of my living space
I sing this song to claim my place in the human race
I sing this song, this song sings me without a face
I’m stuck here with not the least bit of a portion
I was given a God but condemned by his religion
Every time I try to take a stand or make a resolution,
I remember I’m the child of some natural transgression
Sing my children, you can catch the tune
Then you’ll realize you’ve been living in my tomb
It’s like those dark months without noon when you want to see June
Or an endless night in the devil’s paradise without moon
Oh children I’m giving you the key
You can ride out on this melody
It’s the only way I’ve been free
And the only way you’ll ever be
So sing my song, sing sing along
Sing my song, sing sing along
Sing my song, it’s our song
Sing our song, redemption song
Sitting round the Big Pot cooking insufficient
An anachronistic moment, fleeting at best
But we made it last beyond its prescribed borders
In this block of time, we release the day with laughter and tears, rumor and
gossip
And welcome the night with clandestine cultural expression
Washing our hands in the heat of the cooking flame counterbalanced the cold
mounting our hardened frames via our feet on dirt floor
While the pot brewed with a mixture of wearied flesh, Massa’s rejects, and
emotions,
We became immersed in the fanciful talk of Ol’ James
“We gonna be great, own estates, you just wait”
Laughing, Aunt Jane replied, “You’ll be looking from your grave, cause as long
as we live, we’ll be slaves”
Ol’ James continued unscarred by that point, “That’s alright, long as that day
comes, I’ll be fine seeing it from my gravesite”
“We’ll do it, we’ve done it before”, Burly Jones threw in his two cents, “My
father was captured from an empire”
To which Aunt Jane stirring the pot commented, “Couldn’ a been that great, look
us here”
Semi-addressing that point, Ol’ James said, “We going through this for a reason,
and we gonna be alright, in due season, we gonna be alright”
Not to be outdone, Aunt Jane replied, “Well don’t look for no Jesus, he’s white,
and if you ask him for redemption, he’s gonna tell you of pie in the sky after
you die”
“We’ll be alright, we’ll be alright”
Hit by a vibe, some loosened the atmosphere with singing and clapping
With unrehearsed energy, some younger folks danced around the Big Pot
We never minded that they blocked the warmth from our hands since they placed it
in our hearts
We couldn’t beat drums, no no, no drums were allowed
But we stomped feet, clapped hands, and sang our pain merrily
As was the dancing, the songs were always new and spontaneous
We sung lyrics that massa would accept as benign, pleasant and even welcoming
But which we well knew wished for his demise and our rise
The jokes came flying like seasonal birds heading south
And we were just as high
We poked fun at the Big House, the overseer: light but heavy
There was much bitter sarcasm, puns, double entendres, ironies and innuendos
Information passed, plots hatched, differences patched
We were human
The moment surreal
Could be real
If you knew the deal
The ruckus triggered the light in the Big House, which subdued the flame under
the Big Pot: Massa was concerned
We were immediately sobered into anticlimactic reality, the region just past the
outer boundaries of the stretched moment
The moment at this point seemed an eccentric stitched red in body-sized white
garb
We propped ourselves back in place as we put out the flame, our faces and minds
now matched the surrounding blackness, the flame now in our head
We knew that the moment was to be carried in sleep, which was what it already
seemed
At the first glimmer of daylight, darkness would befall us again
Until the moment returned
I am not
I have no history
I have no parents
I have no home
I have heard my master boast of his glorious roots,
How he is derived from a great civilization
He spoke of great advances made in science, arts and philosophy
He claimed superiority for I was of savage origins
And by extension, a savage well deserving of my lot
Ever since I’ve known myself, I’ve been in the care of others
But for just as long, I’ve been aware that I was not their child
I’ve come to regard my oppressor as both father and mother
I address even his children, years my junior, in the same manner
I live where I work
My work makes living impossible
I can barely sleep
I’m not even given food enough to sustain me through daily hard labor sun up to
sun down
I’ve been in this state all my life
And will be so the rest of my days
My hair, my eyes, my nose, my skin color, my legs, and my arms I took as my
nature
I did not notice them, except to recognize them as God-given gifts
But this man, he took me forcibly and determined my skin color to be a curse
It is the vile that justifies his subjugation of me
Now I live permanently conscious of my color, struggling to reconcile my
existence with this man’s philosophy
I’ve been walking through time with this psychology, a deficient mentality of
self-destruction
Can this really be that this man is blessed by divine order and I redressed in
black skin color?
I’ve been wandering lost in the wilderness
My distress has made me a total mess
If the man had told me that I was a slave because I am lazy,
Then I might work hard to be free
But he told me I’m a slave because of my skin, which means I’ll never be
How heavy is that curse that a man should be given the desire to live free,
Yet be permanently trapped with a trait that mandates him to slavery
Have God become a creature of wickedness?
What crime could I have committed to cause me this distress?
Now I know it is the duty of man to obey the Word
The Lord says redemption for the righteous
But what victory can there ever be for me?
No matter what I do, I am trapped with a skin that keeps me in sin?
I’ve come to one conclusion that works for me
It is that this man is wrong
Perhaps he is cursed, judging by his actions
For I know God to be a good man who would never have fixed me a child of Satan
So now I can live free in my psychology,
And pursue freedom in actuality
Without the burden of conscience ever blocking me
Though my pursuit will lead to conflict with this man and his notions of liberty
and me
Dear Mr. President:
You hold your office based on the Constitution
But how do you explain my position?
Isn’t it that document that makes all men equal?
How then can I be a slave, is that legal?
The Declaration of Independence stated all men are entitled to the pursuit of
happiness
But how can I ever be happy when I’m forced to live a life of distress?
What you profess and what you condone is contradictory
To be a slave in a democracy is the height of hypocrisy
Mr. President, I work sunup to sundown
And I’m beaten if I stop or slow down
With all I’ve harvested, all I’ve sown
I can claim none of it as my own
I produce a great abundance in quantity
But get back a bare annual ration of clothes of poor quality
I am put to live in a little shoddy shack in an unsanitary compound
And still have to find my meal from the unfertile ground around
Mr. President, any extra I get is from what I barter
But it’s hard to find time to produce something to offer
All I can claim of independence is a trip to Sunday market
Seems it’ll be this way ‘till I’m placed in my casket
Even then I might not get a funeral to be remembered
Due to selling, all my familial bonds will have been severed
I’ve been treated as less than a beast
Either give me some human rights or put me back on a vessel headed east
Mr. President, the depth of the problem I’ll spill from this pen
You see, I don’t even have rights to my children
Though I’m condemned, I’d like to see them have a better future
But they’re denied any access to a teacher
They can only expect to experience the torture I bare
And without warning, they can be sold away from my care
Once gone, I can never expect to see them again
I can only live the rest of my life in psychological pain
Mr. President, I am an adult living under nightly curfew
From the abuse of white folks I can’t even sue
My marriage has no legal standing
I can be permanently separated from my wife without warning or a divorce
proceeding
I cannot travel freely about
Even those few liberated blacks need a traveling pass anywhere in the South
Though I am an adult of years, I’m addressed as a boy
Even the white man’s children take me for a toy
Mr. President, I have been whipped on several occasions to make blood run down
my back
What about the national laws against cruel and unusual punishment, which slavery
and slave society lack
I’ve been treated worse than a colt, even nailed with a bolt
But God save me if I should even discuss a revolt
I’ve actually seen and experienced many behaviors that moved me to rebel because
of their inherent shame
Women, for example, have been stripped naked in front of their family and
friends, and beaten ‘till they know not their name
They’ve often been exploited by their master for his good pleasure
Yet he only treats the children of his wife as treasure
Mr. President, atrocity upon atrocity upon atrocity
I’ve experienced, seen and heard many from country to city
Many committed in the name of Christianity
Could God bless men who’ve lost their humanity,
And who’ve stigmatized, brutalized, and enslaved people based on their
identity?
For me, this rationale has gone past the point of insanity
Mr. President, please purge this territory of this iniquity
cc: Founding Fathers (slave owners)
Bob Marley demanded, “Open your eyes, look within. Are you satisfied with the
life you’re living”
Marcus Garvey directed, “Look to the East for the crowning of a Black King”
Malcolm X said “By any means necessary” when he took to being a Muslim
“I have a dream”, the words of the nonviolent protester Martin Luther King
Henry Highland Garnet supported violent revolution
The Underground Railroad was Harriet Tubman’s solution
Nat Turner instigated a rebellion
Denmark Vessey attempted one
Jesus sacrificed on the cross three days
With ten plagues Moses blazed
With horns and trumpets Joshua had them dazed
With physical prowess Samson had them amazed
Wailing on Zion gates, millions unsheltered from the Hades,
the mortared of misconstrued philosophies
The overarching fantasies of miscreants with egomaniacal pursuits fall upon
tribes
The intractable Spirit takes on God-like significance before the sacrilegious
pillaring themselves on wry interpretations of Truth
The hapless innocence of existence victimized by this deviation of psyche,
saddened by its vampire-like transformation
Reason eludes their fangs
It is not explanation they want; it is Justice
They call with the bellowing of innumerable calves, fiercely numbing the Highest
Presence to attention
Wounds inflicted so deep, they can only be healed by revenge
And the stitching of time and self-love
The placid realm interrupted; this is too grave an issue, response is warranted
Fallow ground breaks upon Word, virgin womb inseminated by Wisdom, Truth wraps
in flesh
A lion amongst men, sutured with their problems, condemned by them
With the self-realization of the ordained, a destiny written in the Book of
Life,
He rises unseemingly, a mere man ‘till he elevates, energizing a movement as the
gathering winds in a hurricane, which
After it has passed, the damage done,
Positive change secured,
Witnesses reflect with fond memory at the signs, but confess they never knew
A prophet is never without honor, except in his own country and amongst his own
people
In the foyer of the mansion, they told nigger jokes
Moses tossed in a few
Moses asked, “What do you call a nigger who calls himself a king, but gets a
beating?”
Nobody knew the answer, so Moses responded “Rodney King”
And Moses asked again, “What do you call naked nigger boys fighting?”
Again no one could answer, so Moses told them, “Cock fight”
Moses continued, “What do you call an intelligent nigger?”
Everyone was at a loss for a suitable answer, but Moses replied “An exception”
Moses then tossed in his final joke, “What do you call a bunch of niggers lying
on the street”
Moses answered his own question since no one would venture a response, “Tar”
Everyone laughed, laughed until his or her belly ached
Moses was satisfied at his family’s satisfaction
The next morning Moses overheard the servants conversing in the kitchen
Moses eavesdropped, just to know what such niggers thought about
They were discussing Moses’ arrogance; they despised him, to his satisfaction.
He felt superior.
Moses felt a sharp pang when he heard the eldest servant state,
“He ain’t even one of the family; he was adopted”
There was much discussion about the point, but the old man seemed adamant about
it
Moses was understandably perturbed. Later that night he went to confront his
parents.
They tried their best to avoid the issue, but Moses pressed on. They confessed.
“But Moses, we’ve been your parents. We’ve always treated you as our child.
Why should that make a difference?”
Moses’ mind was far away now. He wanted to know what happened?
His parents explained that his natural mother left him in a basket in their
pool. All she left was he and a picture.
“Give me the picture. I want to see the picture. I want to see my mother”
“Moses”, mom broke down crying, “I’m your mother, how could you…?”
“Let me see it”
“Moses”
“Let me see it NOW”
His parents searched their secret place in the closet, found it and handed it to
him.
Moses looked at it. Moses stared at it. Moses could see the resemblance: The
forehead, the mouth, the eyes.
Moses was satisfied, but he saw something else, something more important.
It wasn’t just the lighting, the woman, his mother, his natural mother; she had
a tinge of blackness.
Moses dropped the picture; he could hardly contain himself; he felt weak in his
knees; his head was buzzing
There were voices in his head trying to speak. Moses didn’t want to hear them.
He looked at his parents; they looked at him
There was something said without being said in the mutual stares.
They knew.
They understood that he knew now.
Moses looked at them with mixed emotions, none of them pleasant: shock, despise,
disgust
“How could you…?”
All of a sudden, he felt the urge to run, and he did, out of the house,
aimlessly knocking down furniture
There were those voices surfacing in his head again; they were trying to tell
him something “Moses, Moses, Moses…”
But Moses wouldn’t listen; he didn’t want to listen. He just kept fleeing,
running without direction.
“Moses, Moses, Moses…”
Moses ran faster and faster and faster.
He found himself on the streets of Los Angeles (LA).
Moses was running through the streets like a madman
“Moses, Moses, Moses…”
He kept running, but he had to slow down
Moses could not keep up the pace. He was exhausted. He had to slow down. He
had to stop.
“Moses, Moses, Moses…”
His weary body could no longer accommodate his desire to move.
So he stopped and sat down on a park bench.
And the voices in his head pounded harder than before; they surfaced with an
urgent fury for his ignoring them so long and hit him with a force, happy
finally to finish saying what they wanted to say. So they vented, screaming,
“Moses, Moses, Moses. You’re a nigger too”
Moses broke down and cried on that bench. He cried hard.
“They freed them”, a nigger passing by said to another in a hurt voice
He continued, “They freed them cops who beat Rodney King”
Moses heard and thought that that could’ve been him. He could’ve been beaten and
his abusers set free
Cause Moses was a nigger too
And the thought kept circulating in his head, “You’re a nigger too, you’re a
nigger too, you’re a nigger too…”
Where these words just brought him to tears, they now stimulated his anger
He rushed off the bench, full of wrath, running aimlessly, picking up bricks,
throwing them into store windows, shouting “unfair, unfair, unfair”,
“How could they…?”
Other niggers saw Moses and joined him; more and more joined him until there was
a reckless mob
A riot
Broken glass, fires, stealing, fighting: Niggers on a rampage
Moses saw a White truck driver sitting idly at his steering wheel
There, there he is, one of them
One of those unfair people. One of those liars, abusers, cheaters.
They were all like that
He was socialized into their mindset when he thought he wasn’t a nigger
Moses, driven by his wrath, pulled the trucker out of his vehicle and beat him
mercilessly
Moses beat the trucker harder and harder, shouting “unfair, unfair, unfair”
The man died
Moses ran on, the act hardly registering in his gray matter that it was an act
of violence, brutal violence
Moses moved on and on, he kept moving now, purposeless, confused, disturbed
From shear exhaustion, he slowed and sat down beside two niggers
Moses remembered how he would have loathed doing this
But now, he was a nigger too
The niggers were arguing
Moses gulped and said, “Brothers, why are you arguing, this is a time to be
together”
One guy responded, “Who are you to tell us not to argue? We saw you kill that
man”.
Moses was shocked. He didn’t think anyone knew.
But some niggers knew and Moses was worried, extremely worried
Cause Moses knew, niggers sold out each other
Moses looked at those niggers next to him, and his stare met theirs, and there
was silence, except for the shaking in Moses’ knees
But he gained strength from his desire to flee, and fled he did
On his flight, he noticed an effigy of President George Bush, a poster on the
ground
Moses grabbed it up and ran until he reached an abandoned part of the city
Moses set the poster afire
Moses burned Bush for all the lies –no new taxes, weapons of mass destruction
for example- he told him, for mocking him, for being so unfair to him
Moses burned Bush, but Bush wouldn’t burn
He looked at the effigy incredulous, thinking it must be that he had totally
lost his mind after all that transpired
Then he heard a strong voice from within the burning Bush say, “Moses, it is I”
Moses asked naturally, “Who are you?”
“I am the God of Harriet Tubman, Marcus Garvey, Malcolm X, Martin Luther King,
Bob Marley and Al Sharpton”
Now the Lord said unto Moses, “I have seen the affliction of my Black people and
have heard their cry by reason of racism; I know their sorrows. I am come down
to deliver them out of the hand of the Americans and to bring them up out of
that land unto a good land and a large, unto the land Africa flowing with milk
and honey”
God instructed Moses to go call his Black people together; let them know the
time is at hand
Moses left the site and went back into the city proper to rescue his Black
people
He saw a young female sister along the way and said joyfully,
“My sister, the time is at hand. It is time to get out of this here America and
return to Africa, the Promised Land. Come my sister ”
She replied, “but who are you?”
Moses, “I am come to rescue all my people, all my people; bring them back to the
land of our fathers”
The sister told him pointedly, “Well I’ve got Maybeline, Lee Press-On Nails,
natural hair weaves, Polo, Annie Sez, Mary Kay products, Macy’s… Brother, I
ain’t going no where”
Moses moved on and saw a young brother and said, “Brother, come with me. I am
come to rescue all my people, all my people; bring them back to the Promised
Land”
The brother replied, “Promised land?”, “What?”, “Men, I’ve got Timberlands,
Guess, DKNY, Michael Jordan, Jay-Z, Big-E Smalls, mulla… Brother, this is the
promised land”
Moses walked further and saw a Black activist protesting unfair work conditions
and racism at a White Company.
Moses walked up to him and said, “Brother, the time is at hand. I’ve come to
rescue all my people, all my people and take them back to the Promised Land
Africa”
The activist replied, “Brother, we here concerned about this land. Don’t you
see we trying to integrate with these here Americans? Matter-o-fact, we are
Americans. You go on brother Moses, you go on to your Promised Land”
Moses walked on to the projects and saw an elderly black resident
Moses told him, “It’s time, it’s time to go back to the Promised Land Africa.
I’ve come to rescue all my people, all my people”
The resident replied, “Africa? No siree. Not me. They hungry savages over
there. From what I hear, I’d rather be here”
Moses then found an educated Black man
Moses informed him of his mission repeating, “Brother, it’s time to make the
trip back to the Promised Land Africa. I’ve come to save all my people, all my
people”
The educated man let him know politely, “Mr. Moses, I’m here looking to advance
in this blessed country. Africa has no opportunity, no history, no culture.
How can I relate to it? I know it not. You go there. I belong here. I’m an
American.”
Moses walked solemnly through the city, defeated
He heard the voice of God come to him saying, “Moses, Moses, Moses…”
But he kept trying to avoid him
The voice recurred with a greater force the more he tried to avoid it “Moses,
Moses, Moses…”
Then Moses had to just sit down and listen, “Moses, Moses, Moses, where are my
Black people?”
“They’re confused; they’re lost”
“Good morning Mr. Walker”
“Good morning, young lad”
“Mr. Walker, why are you so well clad?”
”I’m on my way to a big city in a foreign country”
“Old Porus will miss you dearly”
Of great wishes for riches, the journey to be made
The plane to lift from poverty
Land in opportunity
Gold lines the streets
No more living this unbearable heat
“Before you leave, please give me some sugar”
“I’ll give you that and some rice”
“Oh thank you Mr. Walker, you’re so nice”
“It’s my pleasure, last week your mommy sent me food when I was out”
“With each other, we can never run out”
Living in Old Porus, poor us
In the rural ghetto
The sound of hopelessness echo
To make it,
You’ve got to be realistic
“Hey, remember to pass by my family for a meal and neighbor Mr. Joseph’s too”
“Of course”
“I hope it doesn’t take you off course”
“It’s no problem”
“So good to know we’re all friends”
Leaving community and family for a destination unknown
A long journey to be made
Sometimes I’m afraid
Ambition’s great calling
Keep me a-moving
“Hey buddy, get out of the way”
“Yes well, good morning anyway”
“Whatever, just step aside”
“As you wish, but the way is wide”
“What, are you trying to start something?”
Vicious cold of the place
My next-door neighbor, I’ve not seen his face
Concrete forms the soil and grows as great trees
The news tell of the rampant spread of a strange disease
Exposed for television conversation are strange affairs
“Good morning”
“Good morning”
“May I have a dollar?”
“Uh, yes, you hunger”
“Yes sir… You must be an alien”
Seems everything has a dollar value
“Good morning” tops the menu
Everyone has a serious expression
With a tone of potential for violent confrontation
Still, there’s much to be had
“Nigger, you’re in my neighborhood”
“It’s Nigel, and I never knew I did not as I should”
“You’ve crossed the divide”
“Strange, I just live on the other side”
“You must be from out-a-town”
I gained color
I lost favor
The wind took my last dollar
I’m still living as a pauper
Got to go back to Old Porus
“Good morning Mr. Walker, happy you’re back from the wealthy country”
“Thanks son, happy to be back in my territory”
“May I have a dollar?”
“Uh, sure, how’s your mother?”
“Ah, she went off with Mr. Joseph, two families broken up, one member died of a
disease no one talked of”
Lived as a blind fool
Should’ve taken lessons in Life School
Disbelief boggles my mind
Desire burns within this chest of mine
I’ve got to get to Old Porus someday
Where the moon shines when the sun goes out to play
I smoke some dried clover-leafed herbs that grew on Solomon’s grave. In my
smoke-filled mind lingers the bronze form of a heavenly vision: The Queen of
Sheba. With features that epitomize beauty, she glides gracefully, though
trapped between the walls of my brain. She questions my wisdom, which has
become lost in lust. I am sure she asks something profound, but all I can
perceive are her praises, “Behold, thou art fair, my love; behold, thou art
fair; thou hast doves’ eyes within thy locks”. How can I of such a “wise and
understanding heart” fall uncontrollably to passion’s grasp?
In a climactic moment, juice-embalmed seeds of a fruit from my tree of life
penetrate the dark lush vegetation-covered earth. And there forms a man of the
dust of the ground: Life of my life, a living soul. The Queen’s voice echoes a
name for the child: Bayna-Lehkem (Menyelek I). The name of my righteous father
must be given, for this child will carry his legacy to Ethiopia. He is David
II.
The vision gradually withdraws subliminal pains as it recedes into emptiness.
But I am still left with heartache. Flesh of my flesh, bone of my bones, take
this ring of true love lost and wear it with the pride of a blessed union.
Though I am here, my heart remains with the angel I can no longer behold.
We’ve traveled between mountain peaks that stretched open a sun-glazed sky. The
simmering heat melted obsidians but is somehow impenetrable to our resolve. The
desert walks on our bare feet with thorny pebbles, our hydro-saturated souls
pricked at tender spots, releasing tears that we have to recycle as drinking
water. We are sodomized by sand-strewn wind. Each day is sincere to us, as if
it understands our purpose. The elements, though they test us harshly, remain
our best friend: they are always there.
We maintain absolute faith because we feel like termites cutting through
towering centennial oaks. When exhaustion discourages us, willpower edges us
on. We are convinced now that the body is made of eighty percent belief and
twenty percent steel.
This morning, the horizon reveals the destination silhouetted in outlines
against the backdrop of a full yellow sun. We finally see the peace that
inspired our journey, though we can never be sure of acreage to it. Energized
by the sight, we ploughed forward with an even fiercer aggression, determined to
shed the remnants of our burden with each step. From the misery we came, we
know we cannot return as a dog returning to his vomit.
An angel guided us out of the horror we called home. He told of a place where
love abides. He showed the way and said, “look not behind thee”. We proceeded,
seeing the orange glare of fiery lights behind us splattering an angrily
effusive sky, agonized that dust claimed our past.
Here we are, still on our enduring trial. Final rest, like a magnet to our
souls, pulls us. The word of the God-sent creature, now intertwined with our
being, finds gradual fulfillment as we get closer, though we still can’t be sure
of acreage. We sing joy, our emotion spontaneously commanding our voices to a
chorus. Any outside observer would attest to our perfect harmony. We are one;
we’ll be there.
Wisdom, Knowledge, Thought, Understanding and I
Knowledge hopped around without understanding
Thought embraced Knowledge but found itself ignorant
Wisdom was a mist concealed in simplicity
Yet it was heavy enough to have me float on a plane of understanding
Knowledge felt insecure because it found itself foolish
In its quest for identity, it struggled with Wisdom
Wisdom claimed Knowledge, and Knowledge found expression in Wisdom
Thought feared and submitted itself to the rule of Wisdom
Wisdom fashioned its world so all Knowledge is secured by Thought for a greater
understanding
I, riding on a high, became the beneficiary of it all
I knew there were ten when I started
I felt full so I gave away one
I felt awful so I gave away another
Then someone asked me for one,
he called himself a brother
When I gave it to him, he asked me another favor
I was spendthrift, so I wasted one more
Love almost made me lose four
But thank God it was just one
For another one, I was conned
By foolish mistake, another I lost
I was robbed another
And hard times took the last for the cost
Well here I am empty handed, left stranded
No one volunteered one
When I asked, they had none
“What happened?” I asked
They responded “Well, I knew there were ten when I started…
And hard times took the last for the cost”
One day driving my new Benz
I met this girl I like
It was love at first sight
We talked, she wasn’t uptight
She said “alright, I’ll call you tonight”
She called a little late
But we ended up on a date
I was hitting it, couldn’t wait
She told me I was great
She liked me, said this was fate
Rough times made me lose my Benz
I even lost some friends
At least I’ll have my girl in the end
I found her cheating with a lost friend who bought my Benz
Dude said, “Wait !!!,
I’ll explain for old times’ sake.
See, she told me I was great.
She liked me, said this was fate.”
A hardhat fat man eating a cheeseburger gets on a crowded subway train
He sits next to a Wall Street gentleman, won’t mention name
Of course the Wall Street man is well attired in expensive clothes
But he farts, nobody knows but it is offensive to the nose
The Wall Street man looks at the fat man with a scorn
The fat man, receiving his stare, smells the fart as he is about to yawn
Everybody follows the look of the Wall Street man
The fat man is embarrassed, gets off before his destination
The Wall Street man gets off his stop and takes the stairs up
Another close-by passenger, a college business major, also gets off behind him
and smells his butt
She feels bad and she knows why
She lived a lie
I have the most beautiful woman in my dream
Making intense love though our lovemaking is clean
I am at my best; she calls me king of the ring
She says I have the biggest thing
I have her whenever I want and she always wants
One day while walking down the street
A woman, split image of my dream lover, I did meet
She walked with her friend
But by my presence, I brought their conversation to an end
I told the woman of my fantasy
She said, "Nigga, you’re crazy!!!
I’da never been with a guy like you,
even if I needed money"
I was angry, how could she behave so properly in my fantasy
Yet be such a bitch in reality
I told her, to get back at her, but I meant it sincerely
Tonight I'm going to have you, do to you whatever I want to do,
You’re going to love it too, call me your boo
Then I'm going to cheat with your friend
And you’re going to beg me to come back again
She said, "Only in your dreams"
That's right, this is my dream
At least I can have you there, if not out here
Fantasy love affair
E-mail:drumbeats@dvercity.com Snail-mail:DverCITY, Inc., P.O. Box 1244, Tallahassee, FL 32302 Questions /Comments: Webmaster Revised -- February 27, 2004 |
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