Waxing poetic on thoughts, theory & the times
Yellow-faced dandelions push up
Obstinate to the cold that still hangs in air
That promises and serves frost still,
To dew drops and windowpanes,
Spring is here,
In an in-between, limbo of seasons,
Summer and winter, each hedging for the bigger presence,
This is the nature of the season,
Spring—mediator between hot and cold,
Light and dark
On this segment of the wheel of year,
All determined by the closeness
And felt warmth of one star.
I try to remember
Who I was
Before I started this journey,
A journey of journeys,
where I have left what I know
And found gems along the road
With each step;
Fallen,
And scraped more than my knees,
Scratched beneath my
Surface,
And looked to see who I am underneath;
I wonder and look back to find
Who I once was,
I know she would not recognize me now,
And at times I worry, of sharing all on this path with others
But deep down, I know,
Damn!
How proud She–me of the past—
would be
if she
knew
All I’ve traversed,
The hell and high water I have overcome,
And still come out able
To find beauty
In the crocus of Spring
In its vibrant yet gentle purple petals;
That crocus
That is me,
Having pushed up through toughened winter dirt,
Broken free,
To not just be beautiful,
But to welcome others
Out,
And to be amazed by their own epic journeys.
Try, I do;
Try, I did;
And the rug keeps slipping
Under me,
Know I am no stranger
To the impossible,
And so moving,
Running,
Racing
I try again,
Upon this endless carpet;
This treadmill of
My life.
We’re all awake now,
The veil has been lifted,
It’s time to choose sides
Of history,
This is when out legacy is written,
By when we choose to speak,
And what we choose to say,
Or whose life we will lay down for,
Or if we’ll look at this
As just another day.
With so much on my mind
With so much on the world
It’s no wonder I cannot sleep,
I toss and turn,
With no specific thought,
Just a sense of worry,
For the times,
For the unsettled,
For the pained,
My ministerial heart,
Aches,
For past and present pains,
For systemic wrongs,
I long to change,
I am called to move,
Even in the night,
When tired eyes should close,
Should rest,
I am called to move,
Mobilized by my heart,
Pumping blood of my ancestors through my veins,
In and through brown limbs,
I am moved for change,
To actualize the humanity
I have seen in small doses,
On a grander scale,
To see my brothers and sisters with air filled lungs,
Chanting their message of change into being,
We move,
Not just legs,
But ideas,
Beliefs,
Of an equalized existence
Not pierced by the hate and apathy we have seen,
We move,
We move,
We move.
The door is open,
Something I’ve longed for,
For so long,
And still my foot hesitates,
My leg quivers,
My body shivers
Possibilities,
Good or bad,
A divergence from what is already had,
But whether or not I move through,
I will still be moving,
There will still be difference,
This is a conveyer belt life,
Nothing ever remains,
Whether or not you change tracks,
There will still be change
She of Letters 