The Answer Is Deep In My Soul

I was delicate,
lest I am,
construed as unbecoming,
I never talked of my skin,
that subject,
being owned,
not by me,
even if,
I carried,
the skin around.

That Holly place,
where I go in,
and come out,
haloed,
or,
hollowed,
makes me,
a subject
of whim
and whip.

Then,
Du Bois,
oh,
that figure,
of,
astounding,
brilliance,
taught me,
a management,
of self and anger.

Instead,
of,
anger,
self-disparagement,
self-questioning,
count to seven,
or even seventy,
then you will,
see,
how gifted you are.

The animosity,
struggles,
closed doors,
half-smiles,
wicked,
back-stabs,
open up,
a veil of ignorance,
in which the left arm tied you in,
and a right arm will untie you from.

Against your skin,
a monolith,
of destruction,
was built,
if it were not for you,
a white flag,
would not be raised,
you are anchoring,
a cargo ship on which,
the flag flutters.

One thing,
that will,
never,
change,
nor,
be changed,
THE SOUL,
neither,
a flag nor a pole,
simply put: BE THE SOUL.

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

15 White Coated Black Bodies

 Dark puffed swirls of clouds, gathered as if to tell, of a glorious future, these are shoots on the lips and tongues, of the cotton plantation slaves, the plantationers, you may think of an engine, and you will be forgiven, for your idea of a motor, I speak of another engine, bent and painstakingly sore, picking and cleaning cotton, you may think of autonomous machines, and you will be forgiven, for your idea of automated robots, I speak of a primo automaton, for the plantations had them first, picking and cleaning cotton, a self-driving and self-repairing engine, a self-guiding beast of burden, lagging heavy cotton-filled baskets, if the pangs of child-birth, sent pin-pricks of painful reminders, this bent expectant mother, most likely nauseated but energetic, with the heartburn searing the chest, waves of Braxton Hicks contractions, a shriek of pain, birth rivulets flow, knees bended and the woman lies prostate, on firm solid terra, this is Mother Nature's Temple, The burning bu...
Read more

Thomas Rogers Muyunga Mukasa uses the power of poetry to share an insight with all of us!

God is Great! Every one knows, well almost, born human in a world so vast, inert curiosity the size of a mustard, the desire to order nature, orderliness, structure, fashion and fad, an unrequited passion to overwhelm. Divine existence listens more; sometimes talks, most times acts, our little books have all these facts, each human being is wondrously created, that is the fact we need to cherish, most of all the humans that make it real. People ford streams, scale highest mountains, organize religions; harness energies, all this is so great, can be greater; if humans invest time in people to people skills, than machinations for people to people kills. Small sweet repeated acts; train wagons of charity, leveling the playing fields, facing up with disparity, pacifying the chaos in our minds, act out our humanity. Pocket size pleasures, reproducible successes, portable devices, our mouths speak of capacities, actions erase impos...
Read more

George Of The Constitution.....and Floyd

I tell you of George, one, a General and Geologist, the other, a Governor and Grand-Counsel, the third, A Black, who by his dying breathe, with a Knee, pressed hard, on his neck, was a property, succumbing to, his Master's will, the Master, an outcome of the, Constitution, upon which the other, Georges, put, their hands, as, appendages, one, adamant, the other, a protestant, 'Constitution lean enough, saber-thin and sharp, joins all in bands,' said one, 'needs a handle and sheath, bare it is dangerous, in the wrong hands,' rebutted the other, 'slaves have rights, freedom topmost,' the protestant corrects, 'slaves are property, masters' rights topmost,' answered the other, still they remained friends, One became the President, the other a Confidant, the Black George, however, was de-humanised, objectified, disenfranchised, patented, from cradle to death, destined to, b...
Read more