Unreal

There's a woman I know. I met her way back when she was still a girl. Her name is Sindie Noqayi. She is unreal. A force of nature like I've never known. This is for her.

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You are the unwritten verse

the words that cling, with claws

to the walls of my throat.

You are the unmade promise

the testament of time, the reflection

I see in you is mine.

You are the unspoken,

the unbroken and unmatched.

You are love.

The sound of joy and cry of laughter.

You are the unhidden discovered,

and the lost lamb, recovered.

You are the unknown, now known.

You are the unseen, now seen.

You are the unreal, made real.

Namaste

I Want To Read You

I want to read you

Like a novel.

Turn over your every page,

Delicately peel back your story.

Navigate each twist,

And chart all your plots.

I want to read you

Like a suicide note.

Cut every line away

And shed the shame with you.

To find between the broken lines

The life you thought you’d lost.

I want to read you

Like a love letter.

The frantic confessions

Of a fool that knows no better.

I want to be the smile that guides

The hand to speak.

To be the poem at the end

And a scribble on the margins.

I want to read you

Like a scripture.

With the faith to follow

Your every verse.

To believe as you believe

In the blessing behind each curse.

I want to read you

Like a song.

Sing you off-key word for word.

Memorise your chorus

And have you playing on and on.

I want to read you

Like a sonnet.

Rehearse you

When I’m alone.

And recite you

Once you’re gone.

I want to read you

Like a notice of death.

To trace your life

In a single line.

To find you alive in the poetry that need not rhyme.

I want to read you one more time

So I’ll never have to say goodbye.

Namaste

When I Was Black

When I was black
the world was flat.
I was wrong and
white was right,
there were no lights,
so I lived my life in perpetual night.

When I was black
you broke my neck.
You called me names
and stole from me.
Self-elected, you governed
and relegated me
to worthless
without mercy.

When I was black
I was your slave.
At the mercy of your moods
and the subject of your rage.
You were my jailer,
you shot me in the back
when I was black.

Now that I’m Afrikan,
I find my might
in the truths white tried to hide.
In the histories turned into fables
and in the past that’s covered in lies.

Now that I’m Afrikan
I’m applauded.
Lorded as something better than black.
Played out and pawned.
Shifted and sought.
A headhunted slave.
You still don’t know my name.

I am Afrikan.
I am the exploded star and setting sun,
a form of burning energy and the undying light.
Mine is the blood of a billion sons,
thick rivers of interwoven ones.
Make no mistake;
the melanin in my skin
is not my claim to Menelik’s kin.

This broad nose
is no mark of clan
to verify my state of being.

I am Afrikan
for the stories I tell.
For my blunt delivery
of why the klansmen continues the killing,
for knowing the negro blackface kaffir and his ill
- that stockholm syndrome.

I am Afrikan
for reasons radio won’t play,
tv won’t air and papers won’t print.
I am nobody’s slave,
nobody’s kaffir
and nobody’s nigger.
The lashes on my back
are scars in my past.
My innocence,
like your broken hymen,
can never be re-gotten.

When I was black
the world was flat.
Now I’m Afrikan
and I’m taking it back.

Namaste