ugandabeinsanfrancisco

Marketplace Whose Currency Is Citizenship I met a deep voiced woman, breast feeding in public, accompanied by her, soft voiced husband, with really big-sized buttocks, the man, was shorter the wife, whole and taller, we were in a park, the grass, verdant and manicured, the flowers, a profuse of clashing colours, the diversity, created a unity, purpose and beauty, the people in the park, of whatever extract, those from, valleys and hills, priests and parents, saints and sinners, cleaners and litterers, wasters and repurposers, the washrooms, gender neutral, gendered, the water fountains, stained by, undiscriminating and abiding love, they were accessed by, all people and animals, men with no beards, women with hairy bodies, admiring the beauty, with no exclusivity, it was a park, that included all, body types of all versions were the reason, for admittance, body types were the, pass key to this...

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 ...

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! ...