The worst part is the lack
Of color
Vibrance…
And no amount of Giant Steps
Could avoid the emptiness.

I heard about a torture technique
Where the prisoner is placed in an
Empty white room
With only white light to see
And white rice to eat.
I think the alienation I feel
Is like a form of that.
Lifelike solitary confinement.

the
rain
of pain

fell down
again

i feel the same
out in the lane

sent from a place safe
to a place


unknown





unknown i am
to myself
who am i
where am i

i feel unknown and all alone


the raindrops have their friends,
not alone in their despair


i am but a lonely rainbow.
alone
but
glorious

dear black folks i
want to be white

dear white folks i
want to be black

dear biracials i want to be
black and white
at the same time

(much love to my kids)

dear jews i
want to be a muslim

dear muslims i
want to be a jew

can you help me out
brother?

can you help me out
sister?

can you help me out
rabbi?

can you help me out
habibi?

i need someone
like you folks

who is aware of
DSR

Black and white was my life before I met you,
Now flowers blossom in my heart.
Black is the days I don’t see you,
White is the nights I dream of you,
Blue is the teardrop on your cheek,
Yellow is your sparkling eyes,
Green is my life when you are by my side,
And red is my love for you.

There was a rose garden
Vibrant and full of life
The prince poured
His love into the roses
Every night.
But the roses kept
Pricking his fingers.
His blood dripped
Onto the floor
They lapped it up
Growing more and more
Till the prince ran dry
With no more blood to spill
He left the roses
To die on their hill.
So full of fright they cried
Every night till sunrise
And from their grief
A child was born
Twisted and rotten
A head full of thorns.
They nursed the wretched child
With the blood of the prince
That was coursing inside.
She ****** and ******
till the roses turned white
as the moon hanging high in the sky.
The roses withered as the last drop
of blood left their veins.
And down from hill the child did climb
Searching for a reason
for all the pain inside.

Every time they speak
Of injustice in the streets
A silence is born

We watch the cries of widows
And hide beneath our pale skin