My songs of praise have fallen silent
Silent as my baby's cries
That mustard seed of loving faith
Sits now black with decay
I prayed for mercy and wept for healing
But those pleas dispersed to stillness
Stillness, like the haunting empty stillness
Instead of baby's kicks inside
Divine comfort holds for me no draw
It wasn't comfort that I sought after all
To climb these stairs again, bearing a tray,
Might be to find you pillowed with your books,
Your inventories listing gowns and frocks
As if preparing for a holiday.
Or, turning from the landing, I might find
My presence watched through your kaleidoscope,
A symmetry of husbands, each redesigned
In lovely forms of foresight, prayer and hope.
I climb these stairs a dozen times a day
And, by the open door, wait, looking in
Rarely, rarely, comest thou,
Spirit of Delight!
Wherefore hast thou left me now
Many a day and night?
Many a weary night and day
'Tis since thou art fled away.
How shall ever one like me
Win thee back again?
With the joyous and the free
And an orator said, "Speak to us of Freedom."
And he answered:
At the city gate and by your fireside I have seen you prostrate yourself and worship your own freedom,
Even as slaves humble themselves before a tyrant and praise him though he slays them.
Ay, in the grove of the temple and in the shadow of the citadel I have seen the freest among you wear their freedom as a yoke and a handcuff.
Mother of all the high-strung poets and singers departed,
Mother of all the grass that weaves over their graves the glory of the field,
Mother of all the manifold forms of life, deep-bosomed, patient, impassive,
Silent brooder and nurse of lyrical joys and sorrows!
Out of thee, yea, surely out of the fertile depth below thy breast,
Issued in some strange way, thou lying motionless, voiceless,
All these songs of nature, rhythmical, passionate, yearning,
Coming in music from earth, but not unto earth returning.
Dust are the blood-red hearts that beat in time to these measures,
Statues weep sky
Head bowed to weathered rock
Water whispering against neck
Veined hands crave mud
The hope you keep taking from them
Makes a woman a murderer.
And when they set this country
On fire and you look
At their faces devoid of fear
You should pray. But be known
No God you created to step
On the necks of your slaves
Will come to save His creator
When your genitals are contorted
He began to grieve something he hadn’t lost
The melancholy in his eyes was haunting,
They said so much that he didn’t need to speak for her to see it coming
We’re waiting for dawn
Hovering over midnight
And the minutes creep by
While it turns into early morning
We’re waiting for you
To come back home
Yo happy birthday dude! I have no idea how old you are. In fact, I never knew how old you were. All I knew was that you were big and cool. Like tall and muscly and mature and everything that I wanted to be. The privileges, the status, the good looks, and the fireworks that you got to play with and I didn’t cuz I was too damn young. All of that was all that I saw because that is all there was and now that is all that’s left. I don’t remember much of it honestly but why did you leave so soon man? We should have made memories that I could actually remember instead of painting a stupid foggy morning in my 8-year-old head. U still had to teach me how to spin a basketball on my fingers and let me ride my bike on the ramp you have leading up to your home, your soul, your being and your existence. I’m starting to forget your face. I think you had a goatee or something weird like that. Whatever it was I thought it was cool at the time. Times change and people change. Times don’t change and people stay the same. Well, the times have changed but you are the same. Buried by the main road near the lame tree leaving us with just your first and last name. I didn’t even attend ur goddam funeral cuz time kept me busy. It kept me going, it kept me striving. Or was it just slowly killing me? Reminding me that one day you will teach me how to spin a basketball on my fingers. I hate basketball now by the way. Not everybody is as good at it as you. Do they celebrate birthdays in heaven? I don’t know. I haven’t really understood anything I read in the Quran. It sounds so wrong coming outta false mouths looking for false benefits and salvation while putting up with the damnation of the racist world we live in, live on, and die under. It’s filled with shooters and hooters who act like they have never seen a pretty girl before while they steal her soul and bury her by the road. The same people who keep splitting nations to create absolutions, indignations. They wanna define each man and woman by the machine of their soul. Well, ur machine is already rusting somewhere under the ground. The ground that you were supposed to play monkey in the middle with me on with the new frisbee that I bought cuz the toy shop stopped selling soccer balls. Due to the fact that the country we lived in got involved in brawls with politics, religion, rape, and molestation. They don’t care about no soccer balls. People make things so complicated. It’s kinda stupid to talk with you if you're not gonna say anything back. Sorry, I just wanna hear your voice cuz I don’t know what it sounds like anymore. I see ur face in pictures and try to imagine the creation of the vibrations of your vocal cords like I do with my favourite songs. There’s this new singer named Shawn. I never tell my friends that I listen to his music cuz I know they would just lose it. I mean I only listened to like one or two of his songs. Well, maybe 3 or 4 or 5 or 6 or 7 or 8 but it’s not too late to turn back to some good old Kendrick Lamar. Sorry, I know you don’t know any of these people. You don’t know these stories. I hate how you gave me this story. The details are burned into my skull like the devil’s choir of death. I remember after you left. My mom went to your house. She didn’t even cry, she just talked to your mom about how you were taken too soon and all of that cliche BS that I have seen her do at every funeral. But this time, she was broken and losing function. The air around her became the suction of her tears and the white hair on her head started to fall melting into the Niagra Falls cuz that’s where we were when we got the news of your awakening. It came in like a wet blanket of tears waterboarding my nose my mouth and at that moment I didn’t have a single doubt about my mortality and my life and my growing body. I knew that one day I would also be buried by the same lame tree near the same main road leaving behind a rotting pile of grief that would only be visible in the eyes of my mother and the silence of my brother and the Malboro cigarette packets of my father. If you can die then I can die too I’m sure. You even left your baby boy alone in this world, he was only four. Did you know we moved to Canada? Man nobody here has a goatee. In fact, people who have goatees are either living in a crappy basement or in a jail cell. Just kidding, some are listening to the sounds of Heaven’s bells.Continue reading