North African English teachers
Are so rare in Peru;
However, I was sent right there
By the Erasmus - EU.
My adventures didn't even start
When I felt strong unease;
As if I was followed by some,
Some dark and unseen breeze.
My first day was ruined by a bite
Happened in the toilet;
I saw a shade in the mirror,
Then, some tooth and eyelet.
On my first day I got injured
That was badly enough;
However, the first day kept me
A night just alike tough.
Knock-knock-knock I heard on my door,
The darkness was shallow;
Knock-knock without answer,
My guest was Diablo.
I'd been never superstitious,
Though, I believed in Jinns;
Just as I was a believer
Of many other things.
Knock-knock-knock - for a hundred times,
As if my head was' door;
My fear' fulfilled with angriness,
I faced the corridor.
I got the door slowly ajar,
A black claw might me seize;
I snapped its hand and bring Quran,
"It's time to Exorcise!"
The demon tore the door crying,
Of Quranic verses;
The North African welcoming
Has no demon versus.
Is it any wonder
They are jealous of your strength
You bleed every month
And have met with death
Though you fear
May shed a tear
And your voice may sometimes shake
When you decide to speak
It's an earthquake
They struck you once
And hit flesh
They struck again
and bled to death
One thing they remembered in shock
You strike a woman, you strike a rock
It's sad to see, my own gender
Degrade the one that birthed us
It's no wonder, they have lost faith in us
Wathint' Abafazi, Wathint' Imbokodo'
My ancestors ran
Thats why I'm not American, or British, or Jamaican.
it's because, they ran.
Away from the slave traders
away from the greedy chiefs who clinged glass with the slave traders.
That's why I'm sitting on hard bench with no money and wallet
That's why i will go home after writing this poem to no electricity
and no water
and no polony.
My ancestors ran,
that's why I'm a coward and I'm alive today.
Because great great great grandfather slept in a cave instead of die in a slaveship.
Great Great great grandfather would have won the marathon.
Great great great grandfather is a hero
because he ran.
In Africa is where you built your home.
Giving life to everything you touch
Making every African a proud offspring of the soil
Your beautiful is so spellbinding no one can turn a blind eye to
Perfection is what you deal with you know no mistake
Everyone wants to have you, everyone wants to own you.
You're so precious not even money can buy you
Envying you they took you abroad
Forced you to settle in an unknown place
Ripping away the confidence you've engraved in the hearts of your children.
They tried to make you surrender
They taught your children to hate and destroy you in order for them to use your tears to build their empire
Yet you still remain calm and majestic
You claim your throne and rule with passion
You don't hate nor do you discriminate
You make sure your presence is known and respected by the world
My dear melanin.
The beauty of melanin is embraced
A cradle of civilization
where we walked proudly.
Now a tarnished echo,
of what we stood
A light house of our birth,
which showed us
that no matter the distance,
the light always illuminated.
Dimmed, but we know
where we came from.
Let the lighthouse shine radiant.
showing us that this cradle isn't
Let it shine brightly and show that Africa
is a lighthouse, a birthplace of humanity
and let it once again cradle us.
For we were all guided from here.
This is everyone's birth place.
In a silken stream
soaked in sweat and sadist sun
wearied women wane.
The dust of our creation is from Africa;
The place of our creation is Africa;
The blood beneath our skin has a rhythm
The bond between our bones and Africa is forever.
Some people shout for queen and country,
While other shout for land and blood but,
We will trample the earth and raise it dust;
As we march for the glory of Africa;
Africa produces the dust of our creation,
That dust that makes the baobab tree lives for ages;
Africa produces the dust of our creation;
That dust that produce the finest diamond and gold.
The dust of our creation is from Africa that
Continent that is like the Garden of God: Eden.
Home is where the heart is, no matter what i willalways callAfrica home for the dust of my creation is from thus amazing place
The Peak of Success
My professor loved me
I thought there was
Something to be known.
When I asked him
To give its account,
He smiled and
Had something nice
To be shown.
He opened his diary then,
Some lines he sought.
Once you'd opined,
he said then,
It was the great thought
On the peak of success
(in your mind).
He continued his talk
And told the rest,
It shouldn't be having
The tip and cliff
Or that of the Everest.
A question you'd raised,
What if it is
The Table Mountain
And its land?
You meant, its crest,
Offshore breeze of more bluster than steady.
Drawing white tips to waves of an emerald tinge.
White crested green seas surrounding.
Hands clenched to rail covered by misty spray.
Rolling and pitching immunized by the visions before young eyes.
Sky of pristine blue with radiant white wisps of cloud.
Horizons unending even where blue and green meet.
Two seals at play in the tossing waves.
Glistening grey bodies ducking and diving beneath breaker.
The prow through frothing ocean, pushing aside waves with ease.
Carving on steadily through liquid green and white anger of sea.
To the starboard horizon a darkening shape.
Bands of cotton stitched atop.
Drawing now noticeably ever nearer.
Almost by magic the horizons shape appears,
wind gives way to breeze.
Waters now at ease taking on more familiar and everyday hues.
White shapes astride the shore with tones that hint and suggest.
Now ever nearer becoming buildings and the buildings a city.
All the while the stitched cotton band reshaped to form clouds.
Blanketing perfectly the mountain called Table-Top.
Young eyes still locked in wonder, hands still holding rail.
Now docked along quayside, vast cityscape beyond.
Table-Top with cloth as backdrop.
About 3 hours of time compressed. Remembered vividly... retold unjustly.
The world is too big
And I, too small
So I rely on my God
To understand it all
My mind can't seem to comprehend
the things that aim, the world to end
or bring the knees of an African to bend
or millions of jews to the fire send
my neurons a gatling gun , my eyes ascend
my fist I raise, with the heavens contend
God I trust you, all good all powerful, but me You won't defend?
Am i a fool to love you till my end?
I can't understand it all,
all this hate, to a bullet or a noose will I fall?
but still instinctually all I do is call
Call on a good God
My thoughts recently