I know my god,
I see him in your eyes
I feel his lips on my ear
Like rain on sand
I can’t forget his power,
A fire that does not burn
But it brings life to the ashes

wind whines
haze rain
flings dishtowels
dupatta from
balconies.
150 kilometers
from the sea
I feel the chill,
nature bestows
a mini-monsoon,
relief
from summer’s sweltering
tirades.
but what destruction
could this storm, too, bring?

my soles are copper nearly
black, pudgy and blistering
heels cracked from heat
and hateful words,
my hands aren’t much better.
I soak them with epsom salts and tears
some nights I ask the sky,
why have you given me empathy -
what can I do with it
in a country soaked in blood?

The Oldest Lie

The oldest lie we tell our children is that we are all equal.
We pretend. We lie. We digress from the truth to shield them from all evils.
But the truth is we dream of such a world where race, creed and colour do not define us.

We protect them from the facts of life and speak of the past, forgetting the present.
We praise MLK, Malcolm and Mandela as civil right heroes,
neglecting the bitter truth that they took the first steps on our long walk to freedom.

Enough is enough. Our children deserve better.
They need to know our struggle.
Only then can we dream of better things.

I long for love
without heartache.
To be free from pain,
loss,
failure,
and sadness.
In a world shrouded in darkness,
I long for the light.

From far deep between
She soaks the world around her
With waves of sweet fire