My Heart is made of glass
&
in it, I have tried to keep love safe

drenched in a sea of waveforms,
dancing on the ebb of a digital ocean
its crests crowned with sound

pitched upon amplitude tides      
their volume compressed;
reverberating through glass speakers
mere dots in the sands

i hear cadence...
within the music of your speech
how can it be,
such a many word
written,
yet forgotten,
indelibly on your beach?

if we could interpret the oceans
what stories would its sea speak?
of its corruption?
treasures unreturned
to lost and found?
or of its time to give up the dead,
or of the angels that fell to its ground?


© Qwey.ku

I can only infer you
speak of my skin
this beautiful brown
this lovely melanin?

Yes. Father’s no more,
now long gone, but before
he departed he worked
himself to the bone
straying not a day
from home.

As for my colour
you must be blind
the contorted
black darkness
you perceive
has never been mine.

Why is this hue such
an affront to you?
policemen, judge, jury
school-teachers too?

Now it is said
we’re real-good actors;
for we play many a part,
but you pay no mind
to such sentiment nor
proverbial heart-to-heart.

No sah!
Mistake not my
composure for failed
advance, blink once
& I’ll lick you down
given half the chance!

But then you, your ilk
and your briers sown
would just rise again
with sated verbal abuse
& agenda obtuse.

Lawd O’ Mercy
I want off this
deadly semantic
merry-go-round.

Go home!! N * * * * r!!!
Seething; they scream!

...there goes another
coloured criminal
KILLED
for being created
a shade of Eden's
dust of the ground.
Divine-rich-bloodied
melanite brown.

So, when you insult me
I can only infer,
you
speak of my skin;
this beautiful brown,
this lovely melanin.