The Fruitless Life Down a dark desolate lane devoid of colour forever grey to a railway where no one comes except the tramps who pick at decaying crumbs. The fruitless life... The streams dried up drought has taken its toll and what once was new is now old and you sit in the cold youth half decayed. The fruitless life... First fruit no more that blossoms sure, for all has been swept away all perish. The fruitless life...
Tag: Finding your source
Shall I Pour into Me
Shall I Pour into Me? yuh eva feel like seh the way how yuh dry not even a river can quench yuh thirst? draw from my well that never run dry when yuh try plant something and the grung so tough every tool you use end up inna the bin? draw from my well that never run dry yuh eva try to figure out how to dig a well so deep when a pure rock anda yuh feet? draw from my well that never run dry maybe some senna leaf rhubarb root to loosen tings up mek things flow the right way? Well anyway I will find my remedy.
As the World Devolves
As the World Devolves
As the world devolves
broken
separate
fueled by hate
I will wait
try to recreate
the Eden real.
As missiles are launched
to rock and stripe
each person of their humanity
I will preserve our sanity.
Do you see this?
This is the key
our adinka of peace
As I ride my Sankofa
to retrieve
a promise left to die.
I must outrun the
this rabid wolf
White squall yapping at its heel
tearing everything it sees.
I avoid the holes
that could suck me in
and avoid the hell
that could eat me whole.
But carefully I must
collect those stones
that gives life and not death.
Know Your Truth…
Know your truth and not what the world tells you. To live and live well, means knowing who you are and what you can do. To be small does not mean you are insignificant, it just means that you are at your limit and your efforts are immeasurable for where you are. These words are easy to write but very hard to live out. We want to make it big, want to be something big and ignore that size does not matter but what does is impact. To be localized does not mean we are trapped, does not mean we are rooted, but that we can concentrate all our resources, talents and expertise in a space that needs it, where it will have the greatest impact.
Sometimes chasing a dream because it has been taught as the ideal does not lead to bliss but perpetual nightmares that carry us further and further away from our center. It is so easy to be decentered by our willful desire to be exceptional, but we can be exceptional right where we are. Too many are waiting on the opportunity to be themselves to live their truth and give of their best. When we wait we allow time to dictate what we can be instead of us determining how best to use time to our advantage. It is a slippery slope down the hillside filled with good intentions that were never properly planted. And so the roots are shallow and cannot hold our weight.
We cannot depend on someone else’s vision board to arrive at our truth. That truth is theirs and should never be measured along side our specificity. We must instead find our own course and ride the wave to its predestined destination. Similarly, the words that someone else utters can never be forced fed to us by us, or others. For if we are to do this we will surely choke on them, because we will not be able to fit them properly in our mouth and down our throats.
Your truth is your truth and nothing will change this. There is no amount of wishing, hoping or prayer that will change this. Instead take the time to focus on shaping it as best you can so you can reap good fruits from it and not rely on hand outs or left overs.
Song in My Heart
Song in My Heart So faint and distant it comes from a ghostly realm where dreams go to die and are no more. It beats out of step behind a moldy door left to fester and perish no oxygen given a place where no hope liveth. But the song the song is in my heart covered under all the cobwebs have almost pushed it out into the cold... Then sings my soul... The song hangs on clings to the last thread of stubborn will. Or maybe a Spirit? But I must bring forth this song. Oh the song! From generational curses I must unearth this song. Oh the song! From death and hate I must dig up the song. Oh the song! The song the song! It refuses to die. It changes shape and space but it remains the same. A symphony of strange sounds proclaims its immortality. It rushes out from the dark places, requires me to sing victory. Because this song will never die neither will I. It is perfect it is true it is faithful All this also I must be too. I must find my new yellow brick road to claim my song. Lost to me But never forgotten, stolen but able to be restored. My song- only I can sing it - the right way. Oh the song!
From the Edge of Doom.
From the Edge of Doom. From the edge of doom I stand. Flames lick and caress my face I can taste its essence As my face drips with its lingering scent. Just one more step into a black void of nothingness welcoming me home. To step over I must get by the jagged edge of my conscience that rebels reminding me of my commitments. But how do I escape this pain of loss? I do not know I cannot tell. I look behind nothing. I look ahead also nothing. But maybe this nothingness ahead will give me rest. Take away the pain, maybe? "whether you go or stay it does not matter it's all the same - " I must shake it lose this beast that tries to devour me telling me to move forward over the edge. Maybe there is still hope whatever that is. Like Lot's wife I am rooted but I have looked back - again. I cannot bend my knees so I stand and pray - relieve! As the flames mesmerize and thrill I consider embracing the madness. Should I give in? "Who must I kill to find redemption?" No one comes, no one answers. So I stand - until I am pulled over by the flames or drawn away by saving grace.
That Island
That Island There the skies are always crystal clear Turquoise blue electric. The breeze blows in one direction fate is always with you. No one blocks your view, your progress is guaranteed and your path way clear because you have permission to shape it. You need no doors to keep you "safe" nor to lock the dangers that never were there. There are no secrets to spring at you tear your integrity to shreds; to leave the ground covered with your entrails your dignity seeping slowly into dust. On that island you can truly be free - be alone to thrive blossom bloom pollinate. The cool healing rancid water cures all that the world has unleashed. There is power in those waters. From the brink of death you are made whole. There is no fear no enemy no hate only you. That Island is your safe haven it is you. That island gives you power that this world has taken. Memories are everywhere, momentos lovingly left for you to find. To tell the real story of who you are not created by human hands but fashioned by that Great One. There is no time to abuse time each moment is precious each vital. Each necessary. There you will stay - for as long as you are meant to stay. Not cut down in a murderous rage of jealousy. You will stay. As the wind ruffles hair too dense to penetrate a crown too powerful to bring down. as it massages away the knots there, in that spot you will know peace.
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