Poems
Separate
When did I decide to be me?
I am black, I am male - it is my identity.
And when did you decide to be you …
Tied to your name, to your country – but is this really true?
When did any of us decide to be humans with ears to hear
Instead of sprouting leaves and fruits to bear?
When did we become separated by the choices that we take
When what makes us beautiful is these 8 billion perspectives we make?
When did our religion, political decisions become a reason for division,
When you know very well where you were planted was not your decision.
Separate. You are not different from me.
Separate. You and your identity.
The truth. There is God in you, and a little of you in me.
Time to see ourselves as spiritual beings – and drop this identity.
– Pearly Wordz
Wild and precious truth
“Tell me, what is it you plan to do / with your one wild and precious life?,” from the poet, Mary Oliver’s, The Summer Day.
I cry for us
There is no solace
except to say
there is learning in this
Oh, be careful who enters
your hallowed space
cautious of
those you-described
and more circuitous of
those self-described “friends”
Some are old, some new, some borrowed, some blue
With your permission
they extracted from
you(r) mine
your mineral-rich
heaven-created
charged 100.
Then, as proof of a more close
friendship and
with your agreement
extracted another and another and another
withdrawing by the hundred’s
your mind’s nutrient-rich energy
and youthful intoxication with the “friends” designation
Taking more, day and night, night and day, day and night, night and day, day and night, night and day, night and day, night and day, night and day, night and day, nights upon nights, nights upon nights, and still more - all with your agreement.
At dawn
a daunting realisation
of a friend-ship with only one-on-board.
Then you leave.
Time does not stand by idly
as you struggle
suckling on immature vines
crawling to walk
straining to stand
as is (wo)man’s wont and
decreed by our DNA.
Finally you stand.
Both eyes again heading for life’s highway
brightly sparkling
teeth whitened in preparation
for a ready smile
signaling
a full recharge.
Back straight, looking out at the green landscape open for all possibilities,
another finds you whole.
Another, “friend.”
Caution.
Dem wi tek, and tek, and tek. An afta all dat tekking, dem waa braata tu.
Some are old, some new, some borrowed, some blue
and the true is always
the tried.
– Sherna Spencer