I write as if my heart still lies heavy within;
the words pour as the music flows and I fall
into the sense of calm it brings me. The fresh
way I see the world after; the beauty of each
moment, the murmuring of my fellow souls,
as our words rise up to the stars above,
safe in this world of anonymity.

I write as if my heart still lies heavy within;
but I have not held it for some time.
It’s been ripped and shared. Each little letter
a piece of my heart and soul.

I write as if my heart still lies heavy within;
it’s too scattered now for me to see,
But you,
    you hold the largest piece of all.

Walking by an old graveyard
On a late Sunday afternoon
I noticed a figure at guard
Waiting for the peek of the full moon

Dressed in a black robe
Doing sort of prayer ritual
His hand hanging like a lobe
A rare type to my own visual

I dared not to go near the figure
As it looked busy praying
Unable to control my eager
Too keen to see, what it was doing

As I moved closer to the bushes
I heard voices chanting something
A chill up my spine, I felt the pushes
But on notice, there was nothing

I read somewhere that chanting has power
To see if it really worked
I stayed to witness for another hour
Than I became totally shocked

***** of fire floating away with each chant
My vision widened to see what it wants
A step nearer to the place of ritual
I must admit am purely spiritual

Black smoke rouse in the air
Like thousand tongues, the voices grew
Two robe figures sitting in a pair
I was thrilled by the astonishing view

Almost watching for nearly two hours
I was scared as well as inquisitive
Then came the heavy pouring showers
Yet the floating flames were active

I was unware as I was being watched
Caring less they continued to pray
They had a sweet tooth for carcass, washed
Hungrily they grabbed in to prey

Running home, as I caught up with my breath
What I saw today was a crazy unbelievable ****
Such rituals of what!! for people after death
I rather change my route,
                     before they show me their wrath...


©sim

a morning's
sustenance here
with supposed
tallow grease
will plop
for quest
of subsistence
with its
logical solution
of flatulent
peace has
expired herd
with mahogany
dessert while
playing a
whiter shade
of pale

Colonial history will still dictate how the men around here
Practice love through hate
For aesthetic purposes; an ethnic marker,
Gender controlled by husband...son...father
Against my will.

I can let nature take its course, the uneasiness in how I pass
Bears nothing to your immoral force with which you open me up.
Your gateway to a selfish pleasure,
And I once believed that being loved
Was close to being treasured.
I am as trapped as a bird in a cage,
Modified and made ugly by your commission.
Disfigured by tradition and religion and holy wars,
And chained by the fear  that renders me yours
Against my will.

My sisterhood grows from northeast Africa
To the sub-Sahara.
Young and joyless and bound by doctrines.
No pursuit of happiness. No pleasure to come
No great expectations. Nothing foretold
Nothing that has been or gone.
Objects more of control than desire;
My eyes that once shone with innocent love
Now burn with hate fuelled fire…and all because...
You denied me a fall from grace, you denied me self discovery,
No different to putting scars on my face
Or is that too much a public recovery?
You denied me womanhood, you denied me choice.
I censor my thoughts and silence my voice
And I think of our mothers and their mothers
And of the honour and pride they felt
When this exact same fate to them was dealt.
And why did they not feel humiliated? Abused?
Mutilated? Used?
Maybe when we live in a world without light
We relinquish our strengths and fall prey to our plights.
Enlightenment and knowledge, I was lead to believe,
Are the roads to freedom.
Our mothers learned nothing other than to serve and to please,
And here am I, enlightened but sedated,
Imprisoned, captive, segregated.
Dysmorphic now, a victim still,
And all of this against my will.

Copyright Marc Hawkins 2013