ugandabeinsanfrancisco

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, the 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,  brown, white, yellow, black What became of the pain, that poured out in chants and unvoiced mourns and amazingly still, still fills solemn events.

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

Right there on a hill, overlooking  Masaka , braced by the gracefully flowing  Nakayiba, coursing in feeder rivulets and creeks enriching the plains, out of which knowledge tends her sprouts, are the grounds on which missionaries, whom having themselves come to these areas from Europe, founded an education bastion, from which charisma has busted out in many directions, a  Pokino  led the drive, Lule  donated the land, it was an undertaking of trust and commitment, it is said by those from whom their eyes bore, the dawn of a rich heritage, bent backs their brows sweating, sinew, limb and bone in synchrony, as they tilled the vast plains, only motivated by the hope of harvest that we must be moved to engage, in our tasks with a confident flair, a dedicated bearing, an intense focus, unfettered consistence  and an undying desire to succeed, "Kyosimba Onaanya,"  they uttered, here ideas are planted and skills harvested, wate

I can say to this or that mountain, "move" and away it moves, Ha! That is doubtable, You on the other hand, move me to boundaries, and heights I cannot fathom. I can hold up my palm, to my eyes and see the grooves, Ha! That is incomparable, You on the other hand, have a name for each groove, knowing their start and end. I can laugh out loud, even smile whole day, Ha! simply hiccups, You on the other hand, are source of rebounding joy, enduring and reassuring.

Escape from me, you spirit, or is it spirits, into me, am restrained, out of me, am desperate, a spirited obstinate * A yearning that reforms, another that hurts, same face two-sided, the heart and vessels, blood and lymph, situated dynamism, thin and lean, a necessity. * Takes a gasp of air, the right ingredients, a note in place, for life to thrive, taste to tantalize, tones to harmonize, small is big, tiny liminal catalysis.

Thy grounds,  Kisubi!  And thy green ivy grass, a monarch once told, that here a fountain will be found. Be glad, whispering spirits! your limb, ear, eye and soul witness, She of Avilla called humility a truth no more truer than which to oneself can be, Magnificat! A spirit is only joyful in a saving Grace! by this grass Nebuchadnezzar, Solomon, Mohammed and you seek lessons, to one pride and a belligerent bearing led to a fall, to the other humility led to a profound confidence, to the third Divine prosperity and health, to you a lesson in consequences of conflict, "where two elephants fight..." O fond one, these lessons make you a catalytic innovator, unlock your wells, and let your hands stretch, gather around you all those fond minds, Nnabinoonya calls and your task; O fond one bear witness!   how else fond one can there be life? for in you lies tufts whose roots, tell tales of how Earth’s foundation came about, Yes! Your mind

There is a land in Africa whose extensively undulating hills touch heaven, bound in a nursing ritual  with the milk-white fluffy churn, Upon  Rubaga, Mmengo, Mulago, Kololo, Buddo, Namirembe  and  Kibuli  many did spy, of the glory, grandeur  and grace of boundless horizons, from  Rubaga  an emissary bore tidings on behalf of  Kabaka Muteesa , and before Queen Victoria heralded of a flint-laden land  and soon these flints were struck into sparks, whose light still shines and replaces redundancy, with an ever growing energy, thus is the nature of  Kabaka Muteesa’s  Spell, now they dare and many vie to compare what brought this splendid countenance about, those hills are but a moral touchstone to the crowned and the laborious, from which they draw their lessons, for to the hills they turned to craft and be crafted, Mmengo  mightiest of them all is adorned in shield, spear and drum, Namiryango  like other hills stocks her wares, part of a cast wh

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

Of the meanings, I never asked, but she told a story, about a man, a man who, went looking for what, I know not. First to Ohio, the man went, there to ask for what, I know not, ‘Boat men’ he called out, not an answer, for on the Ohio river, “Boat men dance, boat men sing, boat men, most do anything….” the man left, he couldn’t stand it. Second to Scotland, there he met, the bagpipers, leading a ritual, the song playing, must have been, so popular, for everyone, joined in, “You'll take the high road,   and I'll take the low road And I'll be in Scotland afore ye….” the man left, he couldn’t stand it. Third to Africa, there he met, a people, trying to get, the children, to sleep, who could, blame the children, lala Kahle lullaby, is other than, a lullaby, “In the jungle, the mighty jungle The lion sleeps tonight In the jungle, the quiet jungle The lion sleeps tonight

I am a slave, but why, I am sure, you know, you profess, a humanity, in 'we the people' by 'we' is the aspect of, diverse and not divided, right off, the altar, fired with grace, you commit, me to more, disgrace, your gods, must be, so pampering, and quick, to absolve, only you,  I am a slave, because, you want it, that way, you have, the say, you are, merry, but, when you, treat me so, you are, debasing, yourself lol! this I know, rise up, to the, level of, dignity, just so, you know, opportunity, is all we need, then, we shall, have all, the best, among us, 'we the people.'

Of one limb raised to smack, the other to block, when the blow lands, with fury and recklessness, angered because the debased, is not complaining, stretching the limits, of the hitman's intellectual, and moral capacity, in the process,  bone and joint are struck, the beatings, one, two, three....,  keep coming, the souls are debating, one is a diamond, that without, exposure to, the black velvet, loses all shine, one loses its moral decorum, the other is torn, but not indignant, and not blaming, the striker for, this controversy, hopeless and defiled, a preacher standing by, absolves the cruelty, a politician prescribes protection, not of the torn, but that of the tormentor, a containment language, is coined, to get so much profit, out of the defiled, and reward success, in the business of, mistreatment.

A voice screams out so loudly, tatters and bedraggled, in one hand, is a laundry list, of demands, including not having,  a morsel of bread, an opulently robed, note-taker, extends an arm, the index finger, with ruby and gold rings, to silence, the tatters and bedraggled voice, then comments: "try cakes when you run out of bread."

our common conveyance, whose captain, must follow, a path, that does, not stray, were the jolly, and, the hidden, the merry, and, the  sufferers, above decked, below decked, how different, were these decks, for here, it is with song one enters, down there, it is with savage lamentation, above the deck, was jolly and pleasure, ingesting savory, bloated sage, below deck, was hidden treasure, bathed in waste, cisterns of sewage, such things, can be, to the jolly, the captain, offered wine, tongues tasted tannic, vegetal, and velvety, with a creamy, and bouquet body, the chewy kind, only served, after the closed, rivaling finesse,  and flair, of the jolly, toasting, the pleasant finish, on this deck, joy, is made manifest, by wine, the deck of joy, beyond whose, boundary, no jo