ugandabeinsanfrancisco

In my little red book, You will find my notes, Figments of thoughts, Some with a fiery look, Others toned with sobriety, In there am taking short steps, Which eventually become bounding leaps, In there am slower than a sloth, With whom we compete in speech, and in drawing a spade, In it am at the White House, Scattering rioters with a canon water hose, In it is the legend of the stomach, Oh, no am not going to tell the tale, For not only is it wrenching, It is also riveting, I am not sure which part does what, Turn the pages yourself, I am done breathing down your neck! In my little red book,  There lies peace and my story.

What became of! What became of the, black sheep, that ba, ba, gave you three bags, master? One bag, so heavy, with, wool, belonged to you. The second bag, had the shears, was carried, by, the shearer. The third bag, you kept, at, a store in town. What became of the spider, who, with a needle, pierced in, each one's heart, until a web threaded in blood connected all of us, young, adult, the human race, What became of the pain, that poured out in chants and unvoiced mourns and amazingly, still fills solemn events.

An African Student At An American University We shall buckle up and some of you will ride shot-gun, my professor cautioned, it is a random act, said another professor from another class, y’all should have your grades by now, so thorough and erudite, my professors, a reality, I kept on thinking would come slowly, struck me, this time via an auditory stimulus, almost knocked off my feet, as we changed, from one class, to another, a seemingly,  calculated abruptness, followed by a perfunctory sorry, no eye contact, but that is not common too, Holy sh..! Exclaimed a voice, what would have glorified excreta? my mind is in askance overdrive,   What the hell! Shouted an excited classmate, OMG!  Rebutted a rainbow girl at a far corner, another girl on bended knee, Yes! Yes! Said the rainbow girl, to the bended knee, an animated conversation ensued, it was spurred on by this latest news byte, even that did not make...

Lover she was, pulling at my deep strands, this way and that, invested time in this, cautious strand one over the other, washed over incessantly, were china pebbles, whose permanence, shattered between waves. Over it was, when the ocean bed, in which my energy lay, dried up and left bare, was a suspicious cynic, whose smile had gone biting cold, compassion replaced by tinkering, sinew and joint pulled out of place, hope for replacements quashed.