A Second Chance

From a distance I stare,
At the chance gone by
I’m trying to hold on to a fading memory, of when I met you and almost met myself
Because in your eyes that night I could see a part of me looking back
The memory of your smile lingering, long after our moment’s past
If only I had dared, dared to reach out and tried
To touch your hand that was stretched out toward me, calling me, inviting me

I saw your face today for the first time after our encounter that night
And I couldn’t stop myself from reliving the conversations our bodies had
And wondering how far it could have gone if fear hadn’t interrupted
But I will not pick a fight with a “Should’ve, could’ve, would’ve Memory” it’s like opening a healing wound
So I’ll sit, quietly, from a distance, wishing, hoping,
For a second chance
(Image by saturdayx on DeviantART.com)

A woman I knew

There was a woman I knew once
Her beauty was awe inspiring
And she wore her pride on her head like a crown
She wrapped her confidence around her neck like the fine beads her mother gave
In the palm of her heart she kept mine
Her body was molded and perfected by the hand of the Creator
Solely to deliver His gift of life
Her chest was full and her breasts rich with the milk that built nations
Her hips were carved and chiseled impeccably to give birth to tomorrow
So...hypothetically the rising and the setting of the sun were placed in between her hips
Swaying from side to side
Echoing hypnotically into infinity
This dismantled the very fabric of the men who craved to be with her
She traded in her beads; she took off her crown and left her confidence out for the hyenas to tear up
All for the smooth silky fabric that did not fit her waist
The cut of that dress did not flatter her hips
Her chest was too full and her breasts were just too big
She smiled and laughed but she had no joy
They made the dresses smaller even and in to them she had to fit
She tried and over centauries she passed down to her daughters that into that dress she had to fit, but it didn happen
So what they learned was that she was not enough
She was not slim enough, that her hair was not soft enough
That her skin was not fair enough, that her feet were not small enough
And eventually she felt ugly and that she was not good enough!
But one of these daughters realized, that before 'they' created this size two into which she had fit
Her body was already dancing in her Creators mind...in all its glory
So she tore that dress to shreds, and with it went the standards of beauty that did not worship her curves
She put back her crown; she wrapped her confidence around her neck even tighter and retrieved her beads
Her body was not too big for that dress
That dress was not worthy of her body
Till this day that woman holds in the palm of her heart, mine
And this woman I knew
Is the woman in you

Love yourselves ladies...in ALL your glory!

(Image By natiq on DeviantART.com)

To whom I owe all that I speak

To whom do i owe the pleasure of sharing my intricate clicks and drum bound
dancing of my tongue of a dying people?
To whom do i owe the pleasure of sharing the claps and the steps that massage
the earth and invoke the rains to water our crowns?
With whom do i share the pain in my land?
With whom do i speak of our fallen kings and warriors to whom i owe my being?
To whom do i owe the mahogany tainted skin and dark earth eyes?
To whom do i owe the subtle hint of kingship in my step?
With whom do i unfold the aged pages of our history that is deeply buried in the
elderly, for they soon will visit the grave?
The lines on their faces hold the essence of life and true wisdom, but all we see
is their old ways that pale in comparison to my mp3 player!
These thoughts are with me like the constant humming of an expectant mother,
pregnant with life, pregnant with the future, pregnant with the hope of better
things promised to come!
It is to she, for she is my truest companion.
She gave witness to my first breath and it is she who will witness my last.
I will return to her whence forth i came.
She is Africa, to whom i owe all that i speak!

War

Dreams don’t make it here
They are choked by smoke from fires fueled by bodies too bruised to recognize
Here hope is like a forgotten thought that has left traces of its existence in your mind
You know you can do it but you just can’t remember how
The children’s playgrounds are now just a memory of a peace and calm that used to be
I have forgotten the sound of children playing and laughing
I know they can try but I think even they have forgotten what joy sounds like
My reason to smile today is that 19 children died last night, yesterday it was 43
The rubble that carpets the streets gives testimony to the broken dreams of revolutionaries; the pillars and beams of a nation
“The walls of the great cities have fallen and its homes caved in.”
The constant anguish has left my face mournful but
I trust the flicker of hope is still visible in my old eyes
They have seen far beyond more than I can swallow
I have no more tears to shed, that well is dried up and hollow now
This pain is like a splinter under the nail of my heart
And with every gunshot it is pushed deeper and deeper and deeper but still
I have no more tears to shed, that well is dried up and hollow now
I am afraid of how much we claim to see and the paradox of how blind we act
I am in awe of my spirits resilience and endurance;
Truly suggestions of something divine

Where did they lose us?

Our parents are always on about when they were growing up, “In the olden days we used to respect our mothers and fathers and our elders but most of all we used to respect our culture.” These are values which I can’t see or identify with today, because somewhere between the uprising, the revolution, the blood shed and tears, between freedom and reformation, someone dropped the baton. Our culture hasn’t slowly withered out of our way of life like the seamless transition between day and night. We willingly let it happen, we let our culture lose meaning and its place in the home and we became castaways in the world. We lost what made us who we were and became hollow reflections of something that used to be beautiful.
Now we are scavenging through life, seeking to pick up the few remnants of a culture we have only heard of. We are taking back what was never given to us, trying to silence this question for the next generation…
(Picture by Philip Blenkinsop)