When I look on a fellow blackman
And imagine him tilling
On a land faraway
For no pay
The scars awaken
We battle tears
When we open history books
To see black bodies being transported across seas of pages
Their bells chiming sad songs as they walk
From one continent to the next
From glory to disdain
We put ourselves in their skins
Because we share the same tone
And our tears now
Have formed another Atlantic
Hoping our pride can use it to cross back to us
But what to do now?
We cannot forget
Unless we change the color of our skins
Will you fall for the same traps as your forefathers?
The wealth didn’t remain with us
But the tears never seem to end
Lest you forget
You ask why I write? I write to create ripples that will drown my sorrows, ripples that will touch a friend I haven’t met and say hallo before I do. I write to kiss those with split lips, so that they can know how love looks like, painful but pleasurable and healing. I write to stop bullets and turn them into flowers for their owners, snatch the guns out of their hands and blow up the stupidity in their minds. I write to fill love into black holes found in hearts, to remind them that they were created for a purpose; to create a balance. My words are fodder for the black sheep. I write to remove the shame of a twenty four year old who has travelled the life journey of a ninety year old. I write to advise ninety year olds too. I write to impress, to caress the teeth of people who know not to smile and tell them that life is still beautiful. I write to turn you into a plot twist and surprise you, so that you can stop worrying about tomorrow, or so that you can worry more about tomorrow. I write for mama and papa, so that fossils will say that they had a son, and those few minutes of pleasure were not in vain. I write to stir jealousy in the sperms that did not make it, those that I beat. I write so that wish you can marry me, so that you can wish you were me, I don’t care whether you turn out gay. I write to stop time, time that hurries us into graves. I write to whisper a new tune into the winds to create a better future. I write to turn virgins into whores and whores into virgins. I write to question, to be the end of a sentence that doesn’t make sense. I write to remember, because I will never be a child again and dancing may be hard at some stage. I write to remind you, childhood friend that I have never met of days that could have been. I write to smack my tough primary school head teacher and advise my Sunday school teacher. I write to break rules and not get caught, mock stupid religions and not get shot. I write to become angry when I’m happy and happy when I’m angry. I write to reverse time, to tell nature to fuck off with its strict rules, coz we are not its slaves but its kings and we will decide what it will do. I write to remind you that they lied, that you don’t know, that you haven’t learnt yet unless you first forget and then start up again. I write to live my childhood dreams, to create rain in the desert, to be poor and then rich. I write to laugh at living, and then laugh at the writing. I write what I can’t speak, and can’t tell anyone to say. I write the pain that I hide. I write to celebrate life on flowers that are more beautiful than me. I write to kiss lost girlfriends and exes, create characters with their names and tell them that they still have a special place in my heart but its too shameful for me to say it loud or dial that phone. I write to create my own fantasy world and invite you in, hoping that you will copy it too. I write to move you, just as I saw the river move but did not carry me away, touch you like a whisper of wind then walk away blissfully. I write to control the life of kings and queens, to create presidents and turn them into peasants. I write because there is nothing else someone can do after so many dashed hopes and dreams that never came to be. I would have gone on and on about this nonsense…….. but the next time you ask why I write, I will write about you.