24.05.2015 2.06 AM
I was with Saul Williams, in my house.
I was mad because he touched my stuff, rummaged through my bags.
He was writing poems.
We embarked on a journey. I, Saul and a pregnant woman who is my neighbour.
We passed through a forest. There were bulls. Very fierce bulls. Saul whistled a chant to them. They obeyed. But some became riotous. We ran. A third man helps us out.
I and the pregnant woman walk ahead of Saul. She asks me about Saul, whether he drinks. I tell her he is an American – a Black American.
On arrival, I found out that the pregnant woman was wounded by one of the bulls. There was a gushing wound at her stomach. The baby didn’t survive.
When Saul Williams arrived, I tell him the news. He was shocked. He checks in on the woman and starts to recite a poem, “A child is here, a child is born…”
My shocked nephew wants to call home using my phone. I’m scratching an ‘Orange’ airtime top-up card. I can’t see the code numbers clearly. He is getting impatient.
I wake up.
* * *
Sauti ya dhamira
I’m the mirror of
A library of stars aligning
To sketch blues and esoteric meanings
111 on my calendar
Angels don’t speak in tongues they speak in numbers
Purple feathers perch on my shoulder blades
Whispers from terrestrial caves
Faith is a coded polygraph for the soul
I glisten impenetrable auras on my thoughts
My foosteps is like pyramid staircases
To the apex of Oneness
Your computers are a trinity of binary codes
All machines have a soul
The truth is the oracle of non-knowing
Would I become God or the Sun of the Morning?
Metaphysically morphing from maggot to butterfly
See a fool has all the answers but the seeker is a child
I dance with my grandmother’s feet to
The same drums that killed Gama Pinto
No blank ants on my tongue tip
I speak like my grandfather’s fingers on my young face
Wrinkled smile and a giggle I embraced
Your wisdom of eternal vibrations
Waves of turquoise wings
Je suis l’ombre
Je suis la Lumière, la
Voie et les ombres
Ashy fingers I
Tongue spit on my thumb
Eyes peek past the veil
As the voice named silence
Grass grows into oak trees
Oak trees grow into birds
Birds are spirits of the dead
Dead griots: may your pieces rest in soul
I eye gaze the truth and see the light
I kiss my thumbs and point to the sky
Hoping to poke god’s everseeing eye
And watch him blink diamonds
I and fortune kiss-ing by the meadows
K-I-S-S-I-N-G: energy of two hissing snakes of ‘Ki’ and ‘Chi’
So I chase the dragon smoke
And poetry is my mushroom soup
And I have got the path of my destiny in the ley-lines of my palms
And the elements of alchemy in my fingertips
So I muster my Chi in my mudras
Cast dice to the four winds and proclaim in my holy name:
CHANGE IS HERE!