I am an African

A poem I loved by this poet Wayne Visser from South Africa. My friend recited it at this African Art gallery over here, I thought u might like it Paulo!
Happy black history month!


I am an African
Not because I was born there
But because my heart beats with Africa’s
I am an African
Not because my skin is black
But because my mind is engaged by Africa
I am an African
Not because I live on its soil
But because my soul is at home in Africa

When Africa weeps for her children
My cheeks are stained with tears
When Africa honours her elders
My head is bowed in respect
When Africa mourns for her victims
My hands are joined in prayer
When Africa celebrates her triumphs
My feet are alive with dancing

I am an African
For her blue skies take my breath away
And my hope for the future is bright
I am an African
For her people greet me as family
And teach me the meaning of community
I am an African
For her wildness quenches my spirit
And brings me closer to the source of life

When the music of Africa beats in the wind
My blood pulses to its rhythm
And I become the essence of music
When the colours of Africa dazzle in the sun
My senses drink in its rainbow
And I become the palette of nature
When the stories of Africa echo round the fire
My feet walk in its pathways
And I become the footprints of history

I am an African
Because she is the cradle of our birth
And nurtures an ancient wisdom
I am an African
Because she lives in the world’s shadow
And bursts with a radiant luminosity
I am an African
Because she is the land of tomorrow
And I recognise her gifts as sacred

Love and me are Different-A Vday special

Love and me are different.
Because my tolerance has limits
Where love knows none.
When my hands and soul and heart and strength and feet and mind are done,
Love has just begun.
I have expectations, practical considerations-outlines of the ways I want to act out my every day,
But Love just sits around and blows all her plans away.
She’s careless as the wind,
as silly as the squirrel
And if I’d have to judge her, I’d say she wanted the whole world.

I think and plan a future
Love holds on to the past
I slowly make decisions
She throws herself too fast
I teach her moderation
She spits it in my face
I wipe away my hatred
She laughs at my disgrace.
She steals all my lovers
And puts them in her dreams
So I wake up alone
And she goes back to sleep.

Yes, love and I are different.
Though I need house and food
She can sustain herself
upon my mental residue.
No kind of stormy whether
Can at all affect her mood
If I were to die of hunger
It would take her seven days
Before she knew.
Love stays up too late
Calling people that forgot her
Eager for their answer
Wanting them to want her.

Love don’t even care
Bout the problems that she’s caused
cause she ain’t always right
but she ain’t never wrong
And she don’t never stay
But she ain’t never gone-
A little revolution in your palm.
I cannot live with her
But she has found a home in me.
Love and me are different.
We’ve agreed to disagree.

Orphan

Orphan of the sun, forsake his light-
Embrace the Moon as your mother,
Night wolves howling - Owls subtle sight
Moonlit dreary fields - now your brother.
You shall never need another,
Solo, chase the longing night.
Draw your strength from finished lovers,
Fight for your mist-torn might.
Watch as the stars melt and and fall
upon the midnights dying scene,
Then keep to yourself, need no one else -
Bid Life good night-
To sleep - Perchance to dream.

Coconut ruminisce

It is the ripped pages of all my rhyme
the chalk of every butterfly
we watch the red sun dive
and blackout on the time
The crack my voice
Arouse them fly
and open wings
like butterfly
But sing the night
a silent I
onto the moon
my singing rhyme
And them make love
a cricket song
softly and truly
a patient long
tiger's eye

Na scale the seas
for that kind of rum
ask lady luck
for iron thumb
just the moon and you
forever one
A lonely tune
a butterfly
I watch the moon
and cry.
If we could dive
along with sun
we dip our hearts
in golden waves
and hard our souls
to amber days
the memories.
And on the streets
the butterflies melt their golden wings
down my cheek

Snow Day

I should want to be a morning snow/
bringing beauty to a newborn day-
Reflecting the sun, warmth wont but won-
...
Before quietly melting away.

Patience

once again I'm being forced to endure the torture of stagnant time.
I'm forced to do what I've known to do best.
be patient.
but patience is skill that requires energy and strength I know I no longer have.
it's gone,
spent on hopeless pursuits.
it's like a slow flowing lava that deteriorates the mind.
when the brain has no other retort to the destruction,
when it has no other strategy,
when the pursuit of other thoughts deem futile and you are all that survives in my head,...
my will to wait will die a slow death.
suffocating in the absence of your presence.
and I will be shown no mercy, for that is something time has never been known to show.
and although in the end patience pays off, the cost was deadly and the job is one I never wanted to begin
Like a Slave i was forced to work.

Torment

Torment is a subtle breeze
under the fullest moon,
knowing that you want to scream/
knowing its too soon.

Silent as an ocean's wave
but miles more depraved...

The same chord over and over,
in and out of minor
wild is the wind
but my sighs are only silent.

If you whispered to the stars,
and they didn't answer,
does your hurt still echo
into abysmal forever?

Lucky I can still play
a single note at all,
it aches all that I've ever been
to make love something subtle.