Yes, yes I belong to a race
homo sapiens I'm by birth
alienated in disgrace
being not considered worth

I was nursed in liquid white
by a mother who praises the Lord
wishing to hold even those in His light
for whom there's no black God

Even scars on white skin are black
blood is red no matter color class or creed
yet the stigma of being black bleeds
from deep seated wounds hard to heal

I saw the plains of a primal nation
O what my eyes have seen!
The herds in their millions,
Their long migrations
Deep in their memory.

O let roam the spirit in the wind,
There was a day I lived in freedom!

Where glows the wide amazing sky,
Mira light, the stars of the southern cross;
Below the hungry lion’s roar
Their deep mourning sighs.

O what my eyes have seen,
There was a day I lived in freedom!

A touch of white on the red dirt -
the last snow - a page lost
from a diary written
by a careless hand on the day
when wind was stronger than words.

Winter knows her lines.
Three-finger footprints,
tink-tonk of the branches,
black seeds on the snow,
squirrels and crows are her poems.

She writes and leaves them to melt
on steaming slopes of the days,
when warbler is singing
and rocking the branches
in drunken fox-trot.

Carefree
I flutter
tirelessly

taking
utmost joy
in living life

longing
to embrace
tranquility

All political correctness
Needs to be evenly supplied
Else it becomes a pooled mess
For special lobbies misapplied

Lawmakers sadly and truly
Are just political zombies
Controlled not by voters duly
But at beck and call of lobbies

At times pressure is so intense
Legislators agonized squeals
Are perceived not as an offense
But partying gains on sweet deals

Can we rescue office bearers?
How can the system be repaired?
Answer is with the protesters
And public support is prepared.

Free at last,
don't owe anything 
to anybody 
- I'd worked enough
in the past -
and now like a child,
do only
what I want, 
still not completely old,
I don't ask
why I have to die first 
but 
I am excited
by the fact.
And 
every minute of my life
- what has left of it -
must be mine.

Bare the brittle bones of night
let them eat. those that sleep
won't mind

Let the rumble clatter of timber
combust in its iron cage,
while one slaves

Let the other sleep, and whimper
dreams of running deep
into woods

While you cover strange ground
while the sleeper, sound
investigates the nocturne territory

Of a night, you once found,
once shared,
now a gnarled possession

A bone flint impaired by joint memory
let then, the night compare, while
one whittles words

"I want my son to grow rich and successful through the pursuit of science"--Rimbaud

It tried to drag at my feet
Then the ocean
Tended my needs
The rippling surge

Crossing over toes
Caressed my ankles
Wetting my shins

The art of falling
As if to welcome
The insistent waves

To caress my body
Floating forward
Feeling the choppy tide

Caring not to breathe
A cool acceptance
Freedom of an Ocean

Holding my frame
Firm yet ignoring me
Seeming to laugh

I paused to look back
Then strove to be released
Becoming part of the whole

I hide
my turmoil
with shaky palms

ashamed
my lips fail
to voice my mind

resigned
I follow
hands of the clock_