Of Black, Children & Vices.

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photocredit: @artbywak

Colonialism kissed,

The face of the African sun,

Systematic,

The infiltration of the devil’s kiss,

Illusions of colour,

Illusions that blinded,

The hearts of supremacists,

WE ARE CHILDREN,

Dreams of our ancestors,

Silhouettes of their realities,

Our minds cannot conceive of,

Shades of black,

of niggers cut,

blood,

Bath of kaffirs,

The knife that is white privilege,

WE WERE BORN,

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photocredit: @creativesoulphoto

With a melanin scarred,

We spite,

The stretch marks on our skin,

Yet poverty sits,

On the roof of our tongues,

Can we afford to speak?

Lineages of men,

That smoked polygamy once,

And forgot to exhale,

Lineages of men,

That skip responsibility with a tempo,

Crescendos of pain,

Crescendos of absence,

Men that leave,

Before daughters utter the word,

Father.

A MOTHER’S VICE,

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Chinua demands,

Chinua demands to eat,

Chinua always demands,

His stomach shouts,

Ghosts of his vigor,

Ghosts of his hard work,

His stomach shouts,

Substances of liquor,

Substances of his hard work?

She kneels,

And washes the hand that bruised and battered her,

She kneels,

And feeds the mouth that swallows her name whole,

Before vomiting out another,

Priscilla?

The turn of her insides.

She knows not,

Of the silent messages,

And the loudness of moans,

That aren’t hers,

She knows not,

Of the legs that spread,

On the same bed that holds her secrets,

She knows not,

Of her daughter’s beauty,

Because hers, surely,

Isn’t enough,

She knows not?

She knows,
And justifies,

And kneels.

 

Thank you, old furry friend.

“Indeed, one of the highest pleasures is to be more or less unconscious of one’s own existence, to be absorbed in interesting sights, sounds, places, and people. Conversely, one of the greatest pains is to be self-conscious, to feel unabsorbed and cut off from the community and the surrounding world.” — Alan W Watts

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It is timeless wisdom that, to be fully present. My old dog barks every time he looks in the mirror, and I always chuckle at his absurdity; “How could he be so ignorant, as to not realize self?” Yet, when I too, stare blankly into the mirror, I am reminded of the same inner struggle.

You have come to know and hunger for the feeling that mother nature endows upon you: the kiss of wind on your face, the peace of early morning and the mysticism of a full moon. I am estranged, as to how mother nature cocoons her gift to us; the gift to dissolve human error.

As my pen strikes this, I realize self consciousness is a  darkly cancer, one that defiles your interconnectedness with the universe — leaving you to fight for survival, or wear unpronounced clothing to justify your self worth. It takes courage, admittedly, to step outside of self.

My dog is now rolling in the dirt; and for a moment, I escape my endless stream of thoughts. He stares slightly into my gaze, and in a moment; I shift uneasily to his timeless wisdom — breathe, and be fully present.