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