My daughter and I did a thing…Collab!
Just Listen – Prose
But I wouldn’t and she accused me of wanting her blood
Blamed me for pushing her to the point that her vocal instrument split as it flipped a sorrow-filled phrase off rhythms
But I couldn’t as she charged me with piercing through her flesh until her soul bled.
Ignoring our passion
Becoming swept up in the action of words that sends Isfet through the wind.
By now she has fallen in a place where everything is a poem and all words rhyme and meet in the center of tempos
Incomplete bass heavy lines moving too fast
Spent as our spiritual selves repent
We’ve spilled enough blood to give life to an army of enemies.
Her voice begs for me catch the undertone of each cadenced dripped scream.
But I refuse
Our bodies had leaked enough – every orifice bled until the loss is no longer usable.
But she knew
Listening leads to healing as spirits communicate to spirits
Chanting prayers that I – her lover, would eventually get it
“It seems you have a burning desire to witness me bleed all over myself – Just listen”
But I am deaf
And can barely speak just hold my arms out to be held so tight the flow will stop.
She fades…but stays woke…watching…the insane way I try to transfuse my blood into her heart with nothing more but cupped hands
But I’m convinced that we both MUST LIVE
Scratching at the earth to create a grave for our pain. I reach for her AGAIN.
The fear in her eyes spoke for her heart
But I’m dying
Fading in and out, I remember how willingly she gave her life to satisfy my need to silence her wisdom.
Together we arrived at this space where nothing matters; not the words, not the rhythm, not death, nor the broken shards
“If you would just listen – Every thing will sound like a poem.”
Because Mike, Ezell, Eric, Rekia, Trayvon, and the list goes on…
Running out and over
Through and through
Feels the same
Intersecting life and death
Killing us physically
But not the warrior
Never the fire
Speaking up and out
Insurrections not riots
Don’t call it a riot
Call it a comeback
Summer 67 repeated
Summer 14 we need it
Demilitarize the Police
Cease the time
Rest in Power
Below is a collection of poetry written hundreds of moons ago.
I wish we stayed strong
Strong like tsunamis and monsoons
Strong like balboa trees and gilead balm
Strong like volcanic lava and avalanches
Strong like summer colds and winter fevers
Strong like Elaine and Assata
Strong like Malcolm and Mandela
Strong like Nkrume and Newton
Strong like Struggle
Strong like Elders
Strong like Survival
Strong like She
Strong like Love
Strong like Restraint
Strong like Truth
Strong like Sadness
Strong like Ancestors
Strong like He
Strong like Us
Strong like Youth
Strong like we once were and were once
The Morning After
The morning after
Brought one regret from
My side of the bed
We fell asleep to Miles tunes hanging in the air like incense
Her breasts peaked out from June’s poems collected
Bare bodies at the legs connected
We fell asleep with instruments and words to feed our dreams
We had just met
And somehow she was convinced that spending a night at my rest was a need
I recall not having to explain
A request and reassurance had her follow my lead
Back in my space I set the mood
And as we lay we dreamt in color about what could be
Pretending us had a potential to become we
We touched but just enough
We danced with our expressions but only at a glance
Eventually sleep overcame our daydreaming hearts
Eventually the sun prevailed over the dark
Pressing us back into the familiar scene
June’s words and Mile’s tunes
My want and her needs
She said: “Last night I dreamed of sex.”
And I said: “Sister, we pushed past the thoughts of directed desires.
Chose instead to caress the art of June and Miles
Last night the tips of our fingers met as I held the other side of the book
We were platonic allies, intellectual lovers, just friends committed to purity and
As you whispered June’s legacy over Miles’ hooks
I felt our bodies blistering from the heat of desire of the unknown
But instead of indulging
I imagined us pressed together on the frontlines
Standing side to side
Knowing that any day could reveal the most important revolution
When freedom conquers all
And the action of love and not lust is the only solution
I dreamt of us holding hands in mid-air with intensity as we released our fists,
But kept our ARMS up
So we can RISE
And STAY there”
She winked an eye and agreed: “It’s best.
Our purpose will be much greater served if we steady our minds on the inevitable struggle ahead and the only promise we make is that we’ll meet again.
On the frontlines
And it won’t be awkward.”
As she dressed preparing to leave my rest
That one regret
That one regret…
Her afro standing erect
My locs molesting my back
Her copper jewelry kissing her neck
My desires began to effect
Sex in definition is a revolution
and the night had been put to rest
I led her back to my bed
… morning sex can be the best
June was pushed aside but this time we heeded her call for “Directed Desires”
And this time
Mile’s accompanied the next revolution filled hours
Beautiful like the war for freedom
If only in our minds
as if we were standing on the front lines
Sometimes I wonder how many times I can lie to you
Make you believe something that will never be true
Not sure who I blame more for this
Me or you
Cherish You: For my Brothers who Need Love Too
You will think to the past when she becomes present
Recalling your prayer that she would come to you
You will sing brown woman I was created to cherish you
As a young child
We learn our purpose is to give love under sun or moon
There is an inevitable emergence of lovers old and new
And I believe she often dreams of you
A man she makes love too but her face isn’t there
Just a body to caress and nurture
A sign of loving the unknown and learning from your past
She’s dreamt of your coiled black locs
Your spirited eyes
Possessing the triumphs of our ancestry
Her life story is already captured in the brown of your skin
And when she arrives and settles in your arms
It is all that you’ve imagined and all that she’s dreamed
Your bodies tangle as you drift to sleep
Secure, comfortable, loved
You’ll think back to these words
This is a prayer for you
She will discover and cherish you
Be prepared to love her too
For now…: When They Couldn’t Throw Us Out Anymore
We are revolutionaries
before smoking the natural herb inside the cigar brown paper.
She more than I with her social activism, frontline rallies, and poetry workshops
I with my beliefs and philosophies. We are lovers before strong inhales birth infectious coughs.
Intelligent, independent and in-love before our eyes squint and tear inside the suffocating climate of revolution – before our fingers become hot – too close to the receding blazoned circle.
Ashes of contentment are collected and discarded while the smell of burnt grass lingers … For now we are empowered to take a personal revolution in the streets.
Comedy seems to be the world’s theme as we sit across a thin table in a small tin diner to diminish the feeling of starvation … I notice a frown of paranoia above her eyes perplex at the odd stares surrounding our space. I reach over to wipe the wrinkles playing around her brow away then lean in to kiss her discreetly, painful noises betray the throats of otherwise boring people and we laugh with our mouths mashed and foreheads bouncing gently together. We pull away laughing inconsolably gazing unashamed in each other’s eyes. Knowing our next dining experience will be in the sole company of us better than this – ten times.
Watching them examine us … to them we are exotic birds, perched and ready to shit all over decorum. Our affection becomes over exaggerated as we realize to them our revolution is more quixotic than a worthy stance. We stand after we fill our selves…paying the bill…leaving a tip that we are normal, just a lil high and in-love.
they had to choke down and swallow for over an hour…for as long as we could stand the trite chore of force-feeding. We feel vindicated knowing revolution is supreme. The bold feelings of the mind alter fades as the hour passes. At the exit we feel a harsh wind from an invisible boot knocking us on the outside once again. We clasp hands in defensive solidarity without the laughter this time. Determined to march through the crude looks and disgusted snorts from full metal combat on all sides. With fervor we stare back at the roving eyes convinced that revolution is the only choice.
The only choice…
Her hand begins to lose its grip…when white foamy spit falls in our path…I notice… so we stop at the nearest streetlight…to share a kiss in the spotlight passionate enough to invoke the conquering thought, “Just as long as I have you”. Hate and ignorance die metaphysically. We enter home…peaceful space…our revolution was not televised but it was seen and between us that is enough for now.
We feast as if we won the war.
(c) Talib Jasir All rights reserved. 2016
This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution 4.0 International License.