I am not in your own image;
Neither as black nor white.
I am not in your shadow;
Neither as sun nor moon.
I am not in your shape;
Neither smooth nor sharp.
I am your ocean wave,
Hold me if you can;
Before I become the cry
between your breast and lip.
I am your blade,
hold me if you can;
Before I cut off the flesh,
between your mind and body.
I am your salt;
Hold me if you can;
Before I taste it on your shapes.
I am your blood;
Hold me if you can;
Before I pour it on your wounds
(All poems in this series are, translations from Malayalam, originally written in author’s mother-tongue, “Malayalam’”, the language of Kerala, in South India.)
BY WILLIAMSJI MAVELI
Using the cold
Slice my skin
To let the
Will never happen again
Into my body
Display an image
Of who I am
On the outside
Like a canvas
Of abstract compositions
Release of emotions
I do not regret
Of the permanent
On my skin
But I am
To have found
Such a rewarding
For if I did not go
The words of my conscious
Sewn across my chest
Sitting on the
Into my flesh
Leaves me with
That's full of relief
To build optimism
To stain my face
When looked back upon
I can be absolute
I don't have to
Hide from people
Not tears of sadness
Exclusively molded in the divine image
or egos big enough to declare it so
A dangerous theory
a disastrous belief system
Gardeners of Eden
turned stewards of entropy
Superiority conquest of nature
symbiotic balance forsaken
Jealous hoarders of spirituality,
sentience, self-awareness, intelligence
The irrational glorification of reason
despite a history of upheaval and war
Bullies on the playground of manifest destiny
exploitive excess worshiped as progress
Arrogantly intoxicated on the dregs of Pandora's jar
blindly stumbling toward self-destruction
Welcome to the valley of the shadow of death
So sunny and warm..
I can almost feel you here beside me,
Quietly smiling as my fingers
Lazily play across your skin.
Sleepy kisses and the occasional sigh,
Or light laughter
Are the only audible indications
We’re still awake.
The slow blinking that ensues the longer we lay there;
We smile again when we catch the other peeking.
Torn between fighting sleep to enjoy the moment just a little longer..
And wanting to give into sleep, because we are just so comfortable there;
Warm and safe and loved.
That image of us will always be my idea of perfect.
he seeks shelter from the rain
in the coffee shop
she offers him a cup of joe
she offers a moment to reflect
the hipsters and hangers about
fill her world with sight and sound
fill her senses with smiles and joy
but inside she know she needs something more
that this place is just an emblem
and cannot sustain a soul like her
she could have anything
she just need ask
but she cant find the words to describe
cant find an image to convey
her souls need
but its clear to him
its a ship sailing to distant spain
its a road leading out into a western desert
its a train rolling thru a dark stormy night to a northern town
its a footpath thru mist
its a man seeking shelter from the rain
he leaves with her smile
which she gave with a hopefull heart
wrestle with the shadows in his heart
but its her face that lingers
in the late hour
in this last time he will stand
the standards of the champions
the fighters for truth
and the ones too dark to do else but die
they gather in harsh light
and prepare to do battle and stand their ground
a prince of the beasts proud and fair
a champion to the ones who have no strength to call their own
the frame of time captures only the movement
but the fickle thought of who he is
prince of beasts proud and fair
champion of the clean linen uniform
regal bearer of the standard of a rising sun
reflected only in the young eyes
those cheering champions like him on from the side
but its only her smile that lingers for him
as his life flows spent onto the sand
she never did catch that train
never did escape that shop
never did grow beyond the borders
of the hipsters and hangers on
but least they loved her too
in their way
and that is some comfort
edit: the cup of coffee may have been a illusion. it has been redacted from reality
Jolted awake as always
But then I see
Lying beside mine
And it all seems
In my life that I've
So worth him
My future husband
The man whom I
Could not bare life without
My heart settles into this peaceful image
Of his arms wrapped around me
And never letting go
And then I sink deeper and the image of us holding
Our childs hand comes back to my mind
And it just all seems
Life with you is
All I could have ever wanted.
You are my dream come true.
Standing firm on my chosen path, I cannot help but look to the desolate fields outside
Despite no wall between, I feel alone
Others glide past with ease, and share only brief interaction
I admit I sometimes yearn for the company
But I do not crave such connections displayed in this dense population.
But a man caught my eye
With movements so fast, he seemed motionless and calm
Beneath the heavy shadow he remained at peace
No ropes laid out for escape nor comfort
And the dark sun was not quick enough to cast a shadow on his image.
This man spoke words of honesty
Although they may have been from cunning I could not see
I chose to wear this blindfold and open my hands long ago
I wonder if in the exchange of good for moments of pleasure
Did this man conceal treasures from those bodiless tax collectors?
As we spoke, I felt him offload words into my ears
Words with slight glimmers that brought more light to my own
This honestly deceiving man was not lost
He stayed hidden, concealed
Secretly passing his light to my torch, to carry forward in my journey.
Perhaps all is not lost, perhaps, we will wait and see, perhaps we will see.
Author. Nothing his radar
Escapes. All things he knows,
Even the wind that blows.
All gods ere him stoop, bowing
Together to the majesty in
Heaven's realm. Great his manifold
Wonders. Excellent every craft
And work of his hand. The world
Whole waltz upon his golden cart.
Man, the opus of his creation:
The only in his image cast.
Unequalled in form and fashion--
From his first to his last.
Nought exits that was uncreated;
Nonfictional be the Genesis' account.
Scores of theories scientists great invented--
All, Scripture and faith, does discount.
In awe stand: the Alpha hail; laud the Omega.
I have been living in this apartment for 9 months
and there is a pink tree that I never noticed until this morning.
it reminds me of your lips
it is hidden behind the leafy green of trees that survive the winter
and it only blossoms in Spring
and I am willing to bet
it only blossomed last night while we were kissing.
that tree is our tree, it grew in 4 hours
sunk its roots into the ground when I finally felt your skin again.
grew branches when your long fingers and chalk dust knuckles wrapped themselves around my ribcage.
buds sprouted when we fell into the lost worlds of our eyes
and flowers bloomed with every kiss.
(4 hours is enough to grow a tree when love is the gardener.)
there is a vibrancy to the world today
somehow even grey skies light up the world
and cigarettes taste sweeter
but the cold is still too much
and inside, my apartment is permeated with your smell
I want to bottle it and save it up
snuff for lonely days
because what keeps me going is not marketable
which I sometimes forget, because sometimes in love
you believe that everyone looks at your love the same way you do
an image of Perfection
memories of perfection linger in this house and it feels like
morning will last forever
but I wish that last night had lasted forever,
grown an orchard of pink trees so tall & thick the blossoms
pressed against the windowpane
so when you had to leave the petals would pick you up and carry you home
a hundred and eighty-five miles is a long way to depend on petals
so I'll thread my veins and stitch them together
(because of your love my blood is strong enough) & when you get home
O-positive 98.6 degrees will soak the petals into the ground
and up will sprout a pink tree
so you can look up and think of me
and missing each other might get a little easier
(if) absence makes the heart grow fonder
Soul of black folk Trevon Martin and Emmett till..
A image of the worlds ills
There's a different between mans n Gods will..
The physician has stethoscope now breathe Yes the worlds ill
A deviant of society words that the deaf can feel..
The difference in a person defines whats real..
Oh yeah cotton fields
In a dressing room being asked how my jeans of cotton feel..
I don't know cause my genes are imprinted
Reaction to fashion..
How corrupt are these thoughts of blackness that have us branded..
Called to be continents of Christ but island mindsets have us stranded..
Like how u white and you talk black..or how you black and you talk white..
There's no discrimination to ignorance Just like Gods sight..
Yet a clear division he judges the heart its darks and its lights.
He sprinkled his people the salt on earth.
Eat dirt the earth lacks flavor
Transformed to salt
We should not conform to dirt..
Express food I wonder if God taste buds hurt..
Chefs cooking lukewarm dishes..
Serving Jesus as he spits the food out.
Now he raging through the kitchen....
Looking for the ingredients like this is not the recipe..
Where is the complex simplicity ..
No surprise that there's sickness due to obesity...
A melting pot stirred my God blends together...
He makes us all the same feather..
Once realized we can fly together..
Wings strong enough to fly through any weather..
Fly higher than Satan's paws that filthy jungle cat...
Yet some still want to perch on his back..
A bird singing but can't see the bars on the Cage..
Try to escape and hit the bars which causes flight to disengage..
Racism damages the wings..
Hate damages the wings..
Why does a cage bird sing....
Well I don't think Its a song its a scream..
Because if you pay attention the pitch changes once freed..
That same sound harmonizes with the breeze..
A wonderful song heard through the trees
As trees we should be deeply rooted in Christ..
In Faith not flesh that's why the forest is a mess..
Like a tree planted next to a oil spill or nuclear reactor..
And some radiation has disturbed the soil..
Fruit spring up already spoiled..
And I think of the seedlings..
Without proper cultivation grow up to be weaklings..
Jesus is the gardener prepared to work a miraculous healing..
But he only heals if your willing
Church never stops whether in or outside of the building..