He had been sitting there by the riverside--
That was, by far, his favorite place to sit, you know--
And he was dreaming of Ella.
He always dreamed of Ella when he sat beside the river.

But he knew that he and Ella were never to be.
He was black, as you recall.  As black as midnight in December.
And she was as pale as a snowflake that might fall in the same cold month.
She was Miss Ella, daughter of the master.

But, how he loved her.
How he ached when he saw her repeatedly being called upon by men.
Silly men they were.
White men who didn't know how to hold a door open properly.
Oh, they were so foolish.

He knew how to open a door the right way; how to bow and let the mistress enter first.
He knew.
But he also knew that he was black as midnight in December.
And she was as pale as a snowflake that might fall in the same cold month.

And yet, sitting by the riverside, it did not matter that his skin was ebony and hers ivory.
All that mattered was they were both young.
And she was beautiful.

He had watched her all morning while he picked cotton in the field behind her house.
She had been on the back porch drinking lemonade.
Sipping the lucky drink slowly, sensuously.
How he had wished he were the glass in her delicate hands, brushing her lips with his touch.

They had told him to keep his eyes on his work.
Told him to stop watching Miss Ella.
He would pay.

But, regardless of what the overseers and other slaves said,
He could not tear his eyes from her beauty.

So he paid.

They had dragged him from the field, his eyes still caressing her body.
And the white, burly men had attacked him with all their hatred.
And blood streaked, he was released,
Given leave to go down to the river to clean up.

As he sat beside the river, he did not care about his scars
Or notice the pain.
He was relieved.
He had been given a few moments of respite.
A few moments of leave to dream about Ella.

If power was to the People,
Cannabis would already be legal;
instead, this life is lethal,
and filled with broken steeples.

If you don't see who's controlled,
open your eyes and know --
in this world, there's evil
and different kinds of people,

and when we feel threatened,
our mind becomes a weapon.
So, all that we can do
is enjoy a better view

of a better life ahead...

If we don't,
we're better off dead.

Why in the big government today,
are there so many politics,
and not enough policy.
Why are we like the mice to their cat,
as we run and scrounge,
and they grow fat.
Why do we sit and let them decide,
when incompetency and latency,
strip us of our pride.
As we sit and choose who is best,
we forget that these men must pass a test,
it is not about who has better hair,
or whether they say their daily prayer.
The test should be one of valor and bravery,
someone who can fight for our safety,
one who is even-keel and not unsavory,
and most importantly
someone who saves us from slavery.

I want that phone,
that Ipod too,
give me the camera,
and I will record this zoo.
Throwing a punch,
for the newest toys,
never aware,
these are merely ploys.
As companies control what we love,
creating mountains out of molehills,
such as diamonds and gold,
they make others work against their wills,
just to get something sold.
While in our "civilized" society,
we speak of how we have ascended,
gone past the slave work,
and life is splendid.
But if we took each and every child,
and make them work with no food,
that would get the parents surely riled.
But we HAVE done this with the PEOPLE in the "wild"
and yet we act so mild,
as they die and we just smiled,
because we got the new T.V.,
at the "lowest" cost there can be.

my phone beeped
in an almost deserted train compartment.
my boss,
'where have you reached?'
I sighed and replied,
'should reach in 5'
(would reach in 20)
same old dance
to the tune of corporate slavery.

a sharp sound,
I looked up.
the sound dissolved
into a fit of giggles.

a group of kids
playing around, teasing,
their mother close by;
a hawker, selling trinkets in the train.

it looked so natural.
a working mum
looking after her kids while on the job
(doesn't work that way does it?
guess they didn't have anywhere safe
without her)

I couldn't look away.

it was such a sight...
torn, tattered clothes
dirt and mud all over
and those innocent giggles;
it didn't add up.

I was tired, aching,
infatuating about sleep;
feet bleeding in killer heels,
rushing around without purpose,
forced into an exploitative overtime job
by myself; frustrated,
trying to keep up with society.

the little family
calm, collected;
torn, tattered smiles held with grace,
facing their exploitative poverty
with innocent mischief and honest labour.

confused,
I had a thought:
that's the life they've known,
this is the life I've known.
we fit in our lives...
differently?

no...
we fit in different lives in the same way.
I struggle she struggles,
we both have good bad days.

I didn't realize I was smiling
till she smiled back.

I bought something
and got off at the next stop,
wishing she has more good days than bad
and the kids keep their giggles
a little longer than they can..

Black oil,
Tarnished the white sands of a paradise that is,
No longer a paradise,
Because no matter how much you try to clean it up,
It will always be a shade darker than it used to be.
Not fully regaining its color.
The thick molasses no longer holds it together,
Africa, seems broken beyond repair.

Diamonds don't shine as bright as Rihanna suggested.
Instead they glow red,
With the blood stains of the innocents,
Slaughtered for wedding rings.

Bullets...
Cutting into the flesh of my ancestors,
Like those very diamond cutting into glass,
Because what is life compared to,
A piece of rock?

There is a pseudo-melodramatic darkness that,
Echoes off of every piece of light they reflect.
Sitting only on the fingers and necks
Of the people who can afford them,
As fingers and necks were chopped and severed for them.
I am unable to identify with the cries that still manage to,
Resonate within the wind,
Apparently...
I am the only one that can hear it.

Shackles and chains

used to run through my veins.

Freedom did not know my name

Now I roam the halls with no shame.

A brand on my torso

haunts me also.

My writing lets out the built-up anger

of the anchor.

Betrayal and sorrow fills the room

but I do not have gloom.


I’m always tired

but I never sleep.

I’m also sad,

but you never see me weep.

Thunder and rain

gave me pain.

Ships and dancing

were never romancing.

And here in the freedom I stay

because the skies are no longer gray.


I am strong and I belong.

And I have known this all along.