Category Archives: Short Prose & Poetry

Music + Food + Him

Sometimes the soundtrack is just scoring the spinach, fish and mango- not life. Not an entire existence. Just healthy food on a plate accompanied by Gallant in all his soulful glory. Easy. Monday. x

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A Tribute to Ali

“He is giving up on fame… He is giving up on millions of dollars in order to stand up for what his conscience tells him is right… There is a very dangerous development in the nation now to equate dissent with disloyalty.” – Death of a King by Tavis Smiley with David Ritz

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Ali (Image Credit lylejk)

I didn’t grow up in a house where my parents viewed a regulated fight between men as an honourable test of mortality, substantiated only by the contenders adopted strain of humanity. Therefore, with neither of my parents being boxing fans, there were never any pay-per-view invoices stacked on the table, no sounds of bells every few minutes travelling down the hallway of our home and leaking into my bedroom to announce the end of another round. Not even a taped cassette, commentary from a celebrated night in Zaire or the Philippines. However, though Ali retired before I was born, it is but an impossible feat to escape references to the giant; his name embedded on the tongue of every hopeful, replicating his motion and reimagining themselves in his place, earning his glory. Ali bomaye! Ali bomaye!

The quote aforementioned allegedly recites Dr Martin Luther King Jr’s support and admiration for Muhammad Ali’s controversial refusal to fight in the Vietnam war. I remember as a child that this historical event was one of the first encounters I’d ever had with the work of the man said to be The Greatest of All Time. So irrespective of how ignorant I was of his boxing career, this man, this Muhammad Ali still managed to find a seat at our table. It was through his contribution to the Civil Rights Movement that he found a way to pervade our hearts. Reports of his strength outside of the ring, where his power though seemingly incalculable, surely laboured to match the strength of his convictions. The man he chose to be, undeterred by the villain people sought to make him in his anti-war stance, revealed in such measure the worth of his heart.

A civil rights leader. An asset to the black community. A champion in his right. May the God you know welcome you home and may the hearts that break at your passing, find comfort in the light of your story.

What a life you have lived.
What a man we have loved.

 

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Tasting Freedom

Photo Credit: Little Zoker

I’m looking at a tree and it’s waving at the sky. What has been decreed by the wind, so the leaves and branches must obey. They are slaves to something free; attached to limbs, fastened to bark rooted in the earth. If the wind blows one way these leaves must bow without thought as to what they are offering passive acquiescence. This tree has no mind, only movement, and even that is governed by something separate from itself. As human beings we live to become a version of ourselves that can be substantiated by our experiences, our capabilities and perhaps even our dreams. But I believe it is our limitations that shape what we ultimately become. I believe they are the roots that keep me grounded like the tree; my failures, proof of what I am not and reason to continue the search for my independence and identity. When I am hopeless, in my own way I demonstrate my compliance and lose a little bit of myself. But when I have hope, it is more a dance than a bow and in that moment, however long the privilege lasts- I feel free.

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Home

The ache for home lives in all of us, the safe place where we can go as we are and not be questioned. -Maya Angelou

This place, as it stands in all its faults and all its beauty will never be who I am. I cannot bring myself to submit to the ways of this broken system. I will not survive a corruption of my independent thought and speech. I feel lost. This is not my home. This will never be my home. I just wanna go home.

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Happy Endings

DSC_0312Let’s tell stories that don’t have happy endings. Let’s sell reality and when they choke, let’s not give them water, and if they die, let’s let them rest.

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She, The Ocean

There is an ocean I fear.
The waves are strong,
And the water is shallow.
The coral reefs are sharp,
And the salt stings my eyes.
She is beauty packaged in lies,
Floating stories written in blood,
She is uncontrollable and inconsistent,
A wild, rebellious wonder,
A callous, unforgiving punisher,
A beautiful, inviting stranger.
She breaks hearts and bones,
Her consumption unexpected,
Love her and she will be the medicine that mends your soul,
You will learn why they fall deeply, quickly,
Into her arms, into her whole,
And when they rise, if they rise,
… May they rise.
This ocean.
The monster that loves,
The heart that beats and pounds,
A raw crash on unstable ground.
Wave after wave.
Waves and more waves.

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Surely He Lives

“Whoso has felt the spirit of the Highest,
Cannot confound nor doubt Him, nor deny,
Yea, with one voice, O world, though thou deniest,
Stand thou on that side, for on this am I!” – F.W.H. Myers

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I very rarely get it right. Most days I grapple with the idea that a Being so great would live and love us so completely as to let us choose. Most mornings, I wonder why I have to endure the task of a day’s worth of everything that goes against the rationale that God could exist. But He must. For me to live, He must. And if the day should ever come when I find He doesn’t, so my life will reach its end.

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