~Hand of a Star~


I went to the Sun to request for the
hand of one of her stars
the bright shy one
the one who had crossed the paths
of my clan lands about
five months back

“My son, will the shadows of your love
that are cast on the brightest parts of your
hearts still grow more after
dusk comes?” the Sun asked…..

This girl….this shy star
she had the beauty of an entire galaxy
I could feel the rays of her beautiful
eyes warming my chest as I sat down anxiously
on a silver-lined cirrus cloud unsure
whether I would impress her Mama & make
her proud.

Truth is that I was confused
with love sometimes comes hurt
I couldn’t contemplate turning a
bright star dark
receiving her hand only to break
the glimmering glare in her heart….

As if sensing my uneasiness
her soft breath of breeze slowly cooled my racing
heart beat….
I fell into a trance imagining
a day without the Sun
a clear night with no constellation of
“I’m I man enough to walk this unknown path?”

“My Son!”
My eyes opened
glancing drowsily at the Sun
then gradually turning my neck to her
magnificent first born Star.

your daughter is the brightest living thing my
eyes have ever seen
You are concerned whether her destiny
is to be tied to that of a mere man like me
Her rays have been glaring hot on my skin since
I came in yet the compassion of her cool
breath has kept me cool within….

I am no Son of a Moon or relative to any Star
I sprout from the meekest of clans
the one made of dung and mud
Not an iota of burning gas burns
in my blood
I am as meek as they come
Yet what I bring is but what no other man has
the burning love for your brightest Star
one that will keep her brighter that the
light of the entire earth…..

Oh Mama
Our shadows will swim eternally through the
ground and through the grass
for a million dawns and a billion dusks
with our souls illuminating the entire
The brightest Star producing the coolest
The darkest mud generating the hottest

Little shadows mixed of
mud & gas will swim on the
dusty ground and silver-lined
cumulus clouds
You’ll see them jumping around even
after Sun down….

Rainbows begun to form
raindrops snowflakes sun-rays
I felt the blood in my left palm
instantly turn warm
I knew her hand had been placed on



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I remember one time wen
we was walkin down tha stream
to collect some water for cookin’
I could feel her cool vibe from
how she walk
how she moved her feet
you’d think she was listenin to a beat
I could chat with her as she put water in
tha calabash
she would fill it up with no break in the
rhythm of her hand

She was real smooth in how she moved
calabash on her head
cassava on both hands & she would
move as if the wind was her kin…

I would walk ba her side
wen I got too close she wud move
to tha left or to tha right
felt like a salsa slide…

They said she was a drummers daughter
born out of the rhythms of the ‘toom toom’
I could feel it whenever we walked to the
stream or to school
she must have been given to Ingoma at birth
cause being with her always felt like you
were in a spiritual dance….



Posted by on October 15, 2014 in Uncategorized


You, Me & Bees

the environment is not the birds and bees; it is you and me.
the earth and soil is the body housed under our skin
the flowers and trees are the lungs that give us the air we breath
& the blood running in our veins is the oceans and the seas.
So I say the environment is not the birds and the bees
it is natures transparent mirror with a reflection of you and me.
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Posted by on September 22, 2014 in Pics & Kodak Moments, random thoughts


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She Loves Dirt

She rarely goes to tha temple, mosque or church.
She seldom reads tha vedic script, bible or tha koran.
She is skeptical of priests, prophets, yogis & imams.
She prefers climbin’ trees, swimmin in lakes, watchin birds &
admiring tha radiant sun.
She adores the shades of flowers, the patterns on leaves,
the constellations of stars, tha buzz of bizzy bees.
She seems to trust dirt & mud.
Her teachers are the dung beetle & the ant.
Her favorite dance class is that of bugs swaying salsa
with blades of grass.
She truly takes after her mother:
The Earth.
I want to ask Her
to be ma gal
but I know deep within she doesn’t
trust us
she loathes Man
coz he’s chokin’ her mum
pollutin’ her sacred womb…
her land her air her water…
her earth
her only one true love…
I’ll fill ma heart with dirt
saturate ma mind with brown mud
clog ma lungs with all kinda flowers.
I’ll learn to swing & jive like bugs
spend as much time with the helmeted clans
residing in cow dung.
I’ll listen to the singing birds from
sun up to sun dusk.
I’ll learn to love Earth
I’ll learn to love her
I’ll play in dirt till I turn to dust.
Maybe then I’ll win her trust
be her Earth
earn her salsa kinda Love.



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1 Comment

Posted by on September 17, 2014 in Uncategorized


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this truth from tha east n west got mi a lil’ confused. written by men then bound in sacred books. these same books put us in chains, bound in ships across tha oceans as slaves, put us to shame coz we were heathen before they came n brought us the truth so we cud be saved. saved from tha supposed darkness in our souls. convinced that before they docked at the shores of our seas we knew nothin but lunacy & sin. They condemned the gods in who we believed, they mocked our spirituality, they questioned the validity of our humanity, the sanctity of the blood flowing thru our bronze skin. By some strange twisted logic they convinced us that their god was more real than ours, their truth more superior than that passed down by our sangomas; & as the dominoes roll, our hue was said 2b the weaker of colors. Maybe we got psychologically played, spiritually gamed. Maybe it was magic tricks inscribed in sacred scrips, propagated by wolves in sheep skin. Maybe it was just destiny. Maybe it is just economics. Maybe it is heresy to believe that spirituality is not mathematics where you can make up a formula to prove that one divinity (urs) is true & the other is just the unfounded imagination of heathen fools.


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Posted by on September 15, 2014 in Uncategorized


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Chalk to Ink


If you take me to school & teach me how to knit numbers & words,
I will not find any interest in welding swords or guns.
Teach me to write rhymes & to multiply figures
so that I don’t end up using knives or pulling triggers.


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Posted by on September 15, 2014 in Culture, random thoughts


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On God’s Palms


You are not Afrikan by chance.
You are an exquisite divinely crafted work of art.
Masterpiece sculpted ba God’s own palms.
Finely polished with sifted sand n coated
with tha softest dust marinated in tha savannah sun.

You are not Afrikan by chance.

You are sketched in natures cyclic line
serenated ba tha seas rhythmic rhymes
even tha skies solemly confess that
you are surely divine.
Your intrinsic insence is no lie
ur spectrum of blakness is beyond space n time
let no one tell u otherwise.
You are tha universe’ first child
first clan
tha custodian of tha soil on which you stand.

You are Afrikan by design.


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Posted by on September 15, 2014 in Uncategorized


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