The Rapture speaks to me as both the end of the world as we know it and the beginning of life through birthing. Rapture of the cervix and pelvis as the baby is pushed out of the womb; rapture of the uterus as the baby is removed.
Birthing of life is manifestation of Soul; of Universe. To live immersed in the expanse of this incarnation is to release the denial and fear of death. Our death, if we listen without distraction, calls us towards remembrance. …
Ornamental pieces of memories arranged like petals
on rhythms of cold soil, nature’s toil —
we try to create what is most compatible with the human eye,
we want to comprehend faster than we pray to ascend.
These creations are like sand dunes, like withering calendulas,
like healing in process — blocked, unwanted, chased but never caught.
We are frightened by the unseen, even when it comes to fill, make us whole within.
Place vases on my window
seal secrets with gardens
plant rows of forgiveness on the cold earth of dissociation
recreate paradise; you say you can.
I want to write a poem for you.
A soothing song
I want to fill the space in between
with magic and mystery
I want to be the half moon, the rising tide, the dying ember, the becoming.
Sit with me this evening on the staircase leading to courts of order and law;
Understand how these shared memories are home for my wandering thoughts
Once I settle, then slowly I begin to leave.
This while with you was enough –
Now we pack for the satellite‘s journey, the galactic escape.
Jumping fences and walls has become our way of communicating
I’m trying some traditional alcohol
We call it muratina – I like it.
Sipping this reminds me of nights in Vancouver when I wanted to call people; call someone to come sit with me
See the moon – you know I’m quite obsessed with her – moon
Now I’m home. I can see the stars really well, I could count them if I had that Gift.
Another sip; this reminds me of cider, some fermented goodness
Only it’s been home-made.
Now it’s been a month gone by
And some sadness is coming over;
Darker shades of grey on my moon…
*Trigger warning: violence*
I witnessed mob injustice tonight; I watched a grown man being beaten by other grown men.
Just outside the blue gate and along the small path lit by the Mulika Mwiziwas a commotion. Barely 8:00 pm and we could hear shouts piercing our mealtime silence. My brothers were as calm as could be, my mother was not. “Mwizi! Mwizi!”is all we heard. In a few minutes, we were out the door; dressed not to impress.
Outside the gate stood a group of about 15 men. …
I woke up today feeling free.
I woke up today feeling lighter than yesterday; like my heart had gone to a safe place and had its own meditation session.
I woke up today happy to be on my knees; to say “thank you”
I woke up today gifted with Divinity; seeing the Divine within me and I in the Divine —
Seeing myself at peace; all good things are mine.
I woke up today with enough; thank you for my abundance.
I woke up today with trust, like everything made sense on a level that was deeper than what I…
These days the darts fly a bit faster; thrown by a hand that is more majestic
the clutching, gripping, strangling hand that held this heart against the wall.
These days the waters are warmer, the fish somehow navigate the sorrows unspoken and they bring with them a current of wreathing pain — remind me one more time
how it feels to breathe under this magnificent ocean; this magnanimous disaster — is it in my head?
How did this heart go searching for hands that would guide to the crossing path? The lights had not turned; the jungle was encompassed…
Complete this ____
When asking for such is what drains the cup, how We asked to be filled
Complete ____ Me?
Comple__ment Me; be with Me
do not become Me.
This is search I have been on has seen the capital overtake the essence of Me;
This search has left the weight of the ocean on the dust and salt and earth
How do We become — still?
Do We ravage first then collide with peace?
Do We seek to be grounded then hit rock bottom?
Becoming Me is like ____
hot coffee in a…
Droplets. Ripples. Concentric.
When words are constricted and they come slowly like droplets 💧
The boats are more quiet tonight
The lights are less aligned
The waters reflect the red of the night.
These steps are easy to take when all of me is well
When you begin to open up
Be my favourite blossom; be the crimson
Be the half glow and then be the night
Be the boat and
Be the weight of my words and
These thoughts be your abode
To the tunnels
Embers and Waters
These temptations do not speak my tongue
They are kidnapped. They are foreign.
They are yellow and gold and fading moons –
How do you quiet the emptiness?
How do you articulate a void?
Perhaps when I’m breathless, perhaps when lungs become submarines with open windows, perhaps when the ocean floor is home … then,
I’ll learn how to find language in water
How to spell the colour of infinite hollowness
How to define the end of this blue beginning
How to count waves like the rhythm of my race; how my race is counted like bullets…
the journey takes its course in time; i trust time; i trust the Divine.