I have not ever seen my father's grave.
Not that his judgment eyes
have been forgotten
nor his great hands' print
on our evening doorknobs
one half turn each night
and he would come
drabbled with the world's business
massive and silent
......
I come from a musical place
Where they shoot me for my song
And my brother has been tortured
By my brother in my land.
I come from a beautiful place
Where they hate my shade of skin
They don't like the way I pray
And they ban free poetry.
......
The gingham dog and the calico cat
Side by side on the table sat;
'T was half-past twelve, and (what do you think!)
Nor one nor t' other had slept a wink!
The old Dutch clock and the Chinese plate
Appeared to know as sure as fate
There was going to be a terrible spat.
(I wasn't there; I simply state
What was told to me by the Chinese plate!)
......
Shut, shut the door, good John! fatigu'd, I said,
Tie up the knocker, say I'm sick, I'm dead.
The dog-star rages! nay 'tis past a doubt,
All Bedlam, or Parnassus, is let out:
Fire in each eye, and papers in each hand,
They rave, recite, and madden round the land.
What walls can guard me, or what shades can hide?
They pierce my thickets, through my grot they glide;
By land, by water, they renew the charge;
......
You want to be in a gang
And shoot up everything with a bang
You say they'll have your back
But education is what you lack
Education is the key to life
And not getting stabbed with a knife
Education will lead you to great heights
And not to everyday fights
Education will help you excel
Not lead you to a county jail
......
I'm trembling
The coldness in the house
Isn't the reason
I'm trembling because
I miss yr arms around me
Wiping my tears
As I mourn the loss
You're gone too
There's nothing to say
No one's embrace to keep me warm
......
black cherry dusk skies
and moon rose, it was silver
butterfly quivers
the gemmed stars were out
and Mom tending blooms, singing
clematis clinging
jade dragonfly lake
comes again in memory
......
In 't dal waar Geul haar liedjes vlecht,
ligt houthem,stil en trouw gehecht
aan heuvels,bomen,eeuwen oud,
waar zonlicht gouden dromen houdt.
Een dorp van klokken, traag van gang,
waar ochtendmist de velden lang
omhult in zachte,zilvren glans,
een plek geboren uit balans.
......
In Mariadorp ligt een laan,
waar de bomen zich buigen over verhalen
die niemand nog hardop vertelt.
Hier werd mijn moeder geboren,
in een huis waar het ochtendlicht
langs de vensterbank gleed
alsof het haar naam kende.
De zon streek over de rode dakpannen,
......
Ik ademde in wat zij nooit zeiden
en noemde het zuurstof.
Schoon. Leeg.
Vrij van wortels
en van groei.
Ik groef me los uit hun dromen
tot mijn handen niets meer vasthielden.
Ik leek op niemand,
En niemand keek terug.
......