Raw Kale Salad With Sprouts

Raw Kale Salad With Sprouts

The Future

I think of capitalism.

I think of our ancestors.

I think of dead animals, and decay festered.

I think of pain and sorrow.

I think of terror, of eyes hollow.

I think of sadness and grief.

I think of genocidal mischief.

I think of greed and selfishness.

I think of mania, of madness.

I think of oppression.

I think of the lessons.

I think of tears.

I think of fear.

I think of confusion.

I think of transfusion.

I think of murder, of killing.

i think of blood-spilling.

I think of black smoke and black oil.

I think of polluted soil.

I think of slavery.

I think of depravity.

I think of servitude.

I think of rotten fruit

I think of anger.

I think of danger.

I think of a new system.

I think of new rhythms.

I think of possibilities.

i think of smiles and free.

I think of what we don't waste.

i think of the wonderful tastes.

I think of human potential.

i think of the sexual and sensual.

I think of sharing.

i think of declaring.

I think of communality.

I think of travel being free.

I think of revolution.

I think of clear not illusion

I think of ending poverty.

I think of equality

I think of happiness, of laughter.

I think of slower not faster.

I think of the future.

i think of nurture

I think of celebrations.

I think of elevations

I think of living.

i think of giving.

I think of green trees and blue oceans.

I think of trillions of bees and forward motion.

I think of an end to inheritance.

I think of no one born rich.

I think of living wages.

I think of healthy babies.

I think of a system for and by the people.

I think of a secular and not steeple. 

I think of the things that could go wrong.

I think of the struggle to get it right.

I think of a mutable and supple vision in sight. 

I think of how people don't understand it.

I think of redundant pundits who twist the words.

I think of trying to end wars.

I think of more jobs and opportunities. 

I think of new buildings and infrastructure.

I think of workers and the poor. 

I think of no boys and girls as cannon fodder.

I think of no prison industrial complex.

I think of good schools and food for youth.

I think of health care and healthy tooth. 

I think of food in abundance. 

I think of love.

I think of love for one another.

I think of love of ourselves.

I think of love for our world.

I think of love for our future.

I think of revolution.

May Day

May Day: May the workers of the world sleep deeply through the night without dreams of drudgery and slog. May the encumbering doom of debt and poverty be lightened for a day. May our insufficient meals fill our bellies and our children not cry out in hunger. May every mother’s childbirth go without complications and those with young child, let their breasts swell with milk. May we reject this alienation by meeting eyes with our comrades and dredge deeply for a smile knowing we toil the same berth, under the same sun, with the same two hands. May we be internationalists thinking beyond borders, religions, and ethnicity. May we consider Mother Africa—envisage this Earth and all her living things and our relation to them. May our pains—our sickness—our apathy smother under the weightiest of all human love. May we feel as one, remembering our power and our potential. May we not abandon political prisoners confined in cages, punished for fighting for our equality and freedom. May we hear the whispers of our ancestors on the wind at our backs, nudging us forward. May we not concern ourselves with victory or failure, but permanent praxis and pedagogy. May the fear, which paralyzes us, melt in the honeyed rain of solidarity. May we find our vision, our assurance, and our endeavor for utopia. May we move forward with the knowledge of the suffering wrought and confront our collective shame by social restitution instead of popular culture and pharmaceutical drugs. May strikes flourish all over the world, people standing on the streets and roads singing together the ballads of revolution.

Stormed In

Stormed In

Please let the rain, 
wash away your kisses 
As I stumble from the, 
taste of your skin
Please let the storm, 
uproot me from my failures
And the wind steal back,
my pathetic words again
Please let the darkness, 
envelop me in its gird 
As the thunder, 
drowns out my weeping 
Please let the lightning strike me, 
and stop my internal grieving 
And let the shivering cold shake me, 
into a million scattered parts
Please let me find myself awaken, 
in a filthy puddle
As I crumble into, 
tiny clumps of soil
Please let my love be there, 
when you have trouble
And your memories,
of me bring you joy

Birds In Gust

Birds In Gust

Trying to hold on to my branch

Like a multicolored leaf in the fall breeze

My mind in the future, my heart in the past

The horizon is too far; try to focus on my feet

Clutching the mist, for as long as it lingers

Infatuated with the crisp twinkle of the stars

My skin tattooed by your scent

Spinning dizzyingly as I crash to Earth 

Beautiful Scar

Beautiful Scar

Looking at my hands in uselessness 

On this precipice in infinite alone

Surrounded by intimate suffering

One is always lost when you have no home

The swirling despair mumbles to me madness

While clutching this leaking boil on my chest

Feeling its tautness beneath my numb fingers
My face betrays the simmer of stubbornness
The rusty tear of mistakes on my flesh lingers
However, I will not let go of the people

Hunger dribbles from my rotting wound
Pus so viscous, that it won't even flow  

Infecting my skin with its putridity 

Is this anguish my power, disease, or death?

My tongue swells leaving me no words to speak 

As I hold the hot lance glowing in my caress

My flesh burns acrid like jealousy 

In contemplation, whether I have the strength

Perhaps, I will stab too deep into my heart 

Killing my treasured memories, killing me

Or too superficial, leaving my optimism forever fallow 

Maybe, I will heal and be left with a beautiful scar

It’s raised shape so comforting under my touch 

Always and forever with me as something physically real