I have seen words leave their shelter,
Get confused in bitter weather,
Call for help and not be heard.
I wouldn't want to be a word.

I've got some pages left to fill,
To speculate upon free will,
Stumbling through philosophy,
I can't be sure that I am me.

Anxiety is evidence,
Strong fear of every consequence.
Perhaps you understand this pain,
I don't believe I've said a thing.

Stone shadows fill the seer's eyes,
Soul singers, jacked philosophers,
Cold necromancers' boney dice,
Unearthed beneath a willful curse,
Stale fear of morning's sober skies,
The augury of captive birds,
Whose song goes long unrecognized
In yours or mine or Karun's dirge.

Set the alarm
Lock the doors
Lock the windows
Lock the shutters
Find the cricket bat – “put it by your bed”
Say goodnight to mom and dad

Although young, not naïve
I knew every night had the possibility of being my last

A routine that is now muscle memory.

Fear –
You may think
But life –
Normal for me.

Wake up
Turn off the alarm
Unlock the doors
Open the windows
Open the shutters
Put the cricket bat in the cupboard

Never being able to be left alone at home. Unwillingly dragged from store to store.

But – that’s the thing –
People don’t know the real Her,
They know the exquisite scenery, the unforgettable wildlife
They don’t know… But I do.
Because She is my home
Because being in constant fear for my life –
is normal.

Confused –
What do I tell people about Mother when they ask?
The person who raised me, taught me how to be grateful, how to ride a bike,         how to love.
Do I tell them? Will I scare them?

Although hidden beneath the tyranny – I would say –
the bloodshed
the faces of malnourished children left for dead on the side of the road the poverty struck soil the corruption      the greed the hunger the death the separation of class and race

Although a place feared –
Africa.

My Africa –
Whose sunshine you feel ignited in your soul
My Africa –
Whose smile is irresistibly contagious
My Africa –
Whose heart lies in the grassy terrain
The golden dunes of sand
The never-ending mountain tops
My Africa –
Who is the heart of various people
           cultures
   languages
          All who call Her home.
She is –
Where my heart lies even if I am thousands of miles away
Where my mind wanders from day to day.

Her air, instantly calls you
Her smell, instantly smelt
Welcoming you ever so dearly –
      Home.

Like all good mothers,
She is the one who can handle both the tranquil and turmoil,
the love and war.

She is my home. She is who I fear of disappointing.

My Africa –
is beautiful.

As pictured from behind, she looks
Across the water into trees,
Gripping balcony rail waist high.
She's put down bow and violin,
White table just below the rail.
French doors half open frame her back,
Her braided hair, her ankles crossed.
Her weight has shifted slightly left.

Don't think about the end, not now.
No poet's words or prophecy
Can fill the void, no sad slow song,
No prayer or self-inflicted scar,
No philosophical dead end.
Our dancing fails, with hobbled feet.
Sleep tight, sleep's not an easy step.
It doesn't rhyme, or fit the lines.

Apologies to all who need
What's fallen here, suspiring this.
Can't go. Can't stop.  Comes late the taste
Of something that should not have spilled.
Such thinking isn't sanely stayed.
Say what can surely not be said.

i wonder, at what age
you became out of my reach;
i wonder, if i even
tried reaching for you

i know that history leaves its mark on everyone
(but not many have been hurt by the tracks
left behind in the dirt
like you have)

you can sit there for days, weeks, months
while we contemplate your fate,
tossing the choices in our hands
like dice

you hear the word expendable
mumbled in countless conversations
and wonder, at what age
you became in our reach

you think of the family you left behind
and hope they will find their way to tennessee
to a better life that is  
quiet. peaceful.

will they miss your selflessness;
your keen, incisive way with words;
the bumps and hills of your rough skin;
the smell of your perfume?

i miss your evergreen smile;
your poetry;
your skin against mine;
the wonder in your eyes