My dog has died.
I buried him in the garden
next to a rusted old machine.

Some day I'll join him right there,
but now he's gone with his shaggy coat,
his bad manners and his cold nose,
and I, the materialist, who never believed
in any promised heaven in the sky
for any human being,
I believe in a heaven I'll never enter.
Yes, I believe in a heaven for all dogdom
where my dog waits for my arrival
waving his fan-like tail in friendship.

Ai, I'll not speak of sadness here on earth,
of having lost a companion
who was never servile.
His friendship for me, like that of a porcupine
withholding its authority,
was the friendship of a star, aloof,
with no more intimacy than was called for,
with no exaggerations:
he never climbed all over my clothes
filling me full of his hair or his mange,
he never rubbed up against my knee
like other dogs obsessed with ***.

No, my dog used to gaze at me,
paying me the attention I need,
the attention required
to make a vain person like me understand
that, being a dog, he was wasting time,
but, with those eyes so much purer than mine,
he'd keep on gazing at me
with a look that reserved for me alone
all his sweet and shaggy life,
always near me, never troubling me,
and asking nothing.

Ai, how many times have I envied his tail
as we walked together on the shores of the sea
in the lonely winter of Isla Negra
where the wintering birds filled the sky
and my hairy dog was jumping about
full of the voltage of the sea's movement:
my wandering dog, sniffing away
with his golden tail held high,
face to face with the ocean's spray.

Joyful, joyful, joyful,
as only dogs know how to be happy
with only the autonomy
of their shameless spirit.

There are no good-byes for my dog who has died,
and we don't now and never did lie to each other.

So now he's gone and I buried him,
and that's all there is to it.

And no amount of alcohol can make me forget the way it was to hold you
I still can’t bear the fact you’re gone, it’s been two months and two weeks
Two months and two weeks of total hell
Two months and two weeks of me hating myself
I made a promise to my friend that I wouldn’t drink away my problems anymore
I’m finding it hard to cope with the day to day activities as this and that just constantly reminds me of you
It’s been two months and two weeks of feeling dead
But before that it was two years of feeling like I could take on the world
It’s been two months and two weeks since we ended it and no amount of alcohol can make me forget the way it was to hold you

Pray for my veins as I slice them so carefully
Skill like a surgeon as my cuts are so precise
Let the liquid flow from my arms
Just like the tears that drop from my eyes
I put down the blade, and wrap myself up
Tell myself it’s the last time
That I’m done
I know I lied to myself that night
For every other night I do the same thing
I guess I feel as if I open myself up the thing that hurts most will leave

I'm black and proud,
My skin is rich and has veins of integrity!
My heart is soft,beautiful and not gritty.
My eyes are intent,yet filled with warmth.
My lips are full and give out smiles that melts the heart.
I might have had challenges,
Might have seen things worthy of pushing one to the edge,
But I won't lose my head over those things!
Standing tall and overcoming is the best option,
But indeed,life could be so cruel
The one you expect so much from could disappoint Ʊ in a flash.
What is this world that the material things have gained priority?
Mscheeeew,"vanity upon vanity,all is vanity".
And if Ʊ hate me because I'm rigid,then so be it!
My principles will not change,they'll remain the same.
That is what makes me.
Some things are logical,and it is only normal for one to do them!
I would not sell my birthright over a plate of porridge!
I will not let down my guard over things that are not worth it!
I am me! And I am black and beautiful!
And the blood of modesty flow through me!