What Doesn’t Change

Moving orients as well as disorients. It provides reacquaintance with what you’ve kept hidden in both a physical and metaphysical sense. The objects, these passions of the past, reminisce as settings, complex emotional frameworks.

I found today a reading response journal, a piece of my journey into understanding. Pages and pages of epiphany as I was coming into myself as a young college student and a naïve visionary. I look back on my words in mystery and sorrow. How much passion we lose as life plays games with our resilience.

I want to share a bit from this with thanks to my favorite professor of the past for bringing these insights to the forefront, for opening my world. You guided my journey, wishing, with regret, that I could have done more.

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Course: Introduction to African Colonialism
Reading Response Entry 6/16/1999
In Response to Violence, Exploitation and Racism in Africa

Out of all the entries this gave me the greatest pause as it provides relevance for what is happening present day in the United States. More importantly, the professor responds by asking of my responsibility to share my understanding almost as a premonition of what our present day responsibility will be. As a nation, our people are being manipulated to hate and to fear the innocent among us solely for the economic gain of those who could care less about our lives and what the average citizen will suffer as a result of their propaganda machine.

In moving, in movement, we travel with the same understandings and the same responsibilities to speak with our hearts. Reaching out from the mindfulness of 1999 to the people of 2016: reflect, share and act. I, like many, have not said enough.

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Colonizing Relationships

I loved not knowing you for those longs legs
of time, of distance in thought
pulled you out of an abstract ocean
for new tastes.

Commodity is a flower of comfort
you thought meant love
transcendence in the highlight of company.

I am the new age, the colonizer of body and ideas.
Translation is loud, thought is a catalyst to movement.

I continue to reproduce, reap from the gardens I find
pull bodies from the oceans we buried them in.

Graves are the honors we dig.

I came to you puzzling words. Translation is loud,
I expected you to find the pieces
of my body.

the passages of suffering are thundering in your eyes

until I become your speaker, your menacing clouds

we prostrate together side by side irrespective of Gods
claiming answers.
you prostrate to your world for all it knows of pain.
I hold the weight of my head.
I know what my people have done.