Simple Word Series – Page 3

Simple World: Paranoia Edition

The demon of fear is lurking behind the glass, waiting to testify to your bad deeds. The chase begins with you running searching for freedom. The crown you wear falls on ground and you’re left to pick up the pieces. The moon still shinning with red confirms your lies, those truth you twisted into beliefs. The water will not cleanse of your sins, unless you look down deep into it seeing who you are destined to be. Seeing your face, human formed, brings back all those forgotten memories. As you preserve further the night drags longer leaving you with a thirst for the morning
So I say fight them. Tear those walls till your heart is free of comprise: the one you were born with. Why do you think we exist? To sulk? Nah. I think we live with life to represent a perfect state.
Best friends become your enemies compounding and adding to your disbelief that you have of life.
Again I say fight. For to be great is to be break free from lies and deceit. History is there, I know, but I only wish to know of it to progress forward.
The moon still shinning red, dripping blood awaits for those asleep to awake.
The world is fucked up, like a teacher passing greed for education. We continue partake in the commercial of plasticity failing to see demise of our given longevity. The struggle of life is a pain no one but life can teach. So watch it, admire it and watch the red moon disappear along with your history of prevalent paranoia
Puke dirt
And thirst greatness.

Simple World: Longterm Mentality

When you enter the den, you either eat or you become meat. Because after your eyes have been cleared, you see the African smiling and the other Africans imitating, both reflecting the same root but on different paths. To survive you must stir and blend. Living as the neo black man is tough. You try to stand up but they shoot you down with every hook and arrow they can get (knowingly or blindly).

The renewed mind begs you to return to earth back there where air was free. But the reality in you revisits what lays waiting for you back there. So disfigured, your mind accepts this new abode with a little taste of nostalgic feelings.
We are all the same – black people, but the buffalo soldiers here retract and reassess your blackness when in close contact. There is a heaviness in their eyes, one filled with tales; tales that the blacks back home need to hear in order for them to break free from the box of illusion.

Simple World: Forgotten Black xxStory

“To vibe with this piece, you may have to recollect with the blackness of earth
The first line speaks of those who have oppressed our people for too long
So keep your eyes on the price, and read these lines
We are destined for greatness, we only have to choose the eyes of light
Awaken from the slumber called greed
Arise and see the buffalo soldier: laying, waiting, hoping, to reunite with us
Victory worn, forever begins.”

They don’t give a fork-sheet about you. You think they do, but their smiles only hides their worn out pretense. You are alone (united in black) in this world, the cold is there, and so is the heat. Are you willing to lay down your life for another man? Are you willing to not exist? Fear no man, only God. For man is full with lies and deceit. So why fear imperfection knowing perfection is beyond this earthly ground?

Greatness is your name. Your destiny is painted with butter and gold. Don’t stare at it for too long. The ground glitters but the future awaits ahead if you would only look past the mirage. I know the desert is hot and painful, but there is water, so just hang on a little while longer.

“Only black people can save black people.” Do these lines lie? Engage with me and tell me otherwise. They claimed to help us with tender and tweaked ideals. With strapped gold watches they came, fooling the greedy minds. But remember we had gold, and plenty of diamonds even before their arrival. Okay I see we wanted other things; the taste for survival. Ok I see.

We wore earth, smoked herbs, cooked greens, and spoke tales of soul. We are the final product mama earth produced; black and unscripted. Baba Kuti once said “remember we were kings, back in the day.” So I’m here with a drink in hand, thinking, “What happened? How come we forgot? It seems like we were brainwashed.”

We hungrily crave for any information about their lands (look at twirra, or the web), but trust me, there is nothing there. I don’t even need your trust, just ask yourself why your history is irrelevant in the world of academic platforms.

When we love, we love without shape or surprises. But with a kiss on ear they came, staring long and hard at our blackened black water (yeah blackened black SB). I agree we wore greed, but their greed had been heightened with their quest for survival, so with a vengeance they pounced on our receptive ways.

Sad, how we let them rid us of our ways, placing their beliefs and sarcastic motives upon on us. Just look at me, I speak their tongue, and I even write in their arrogant ways. But even with it, we excel and surpass their blank expectations they have of the black person.

I have no cure. At least not yet. I do have a goal which is to write our history, the one they erased and stole. So vibe with me, forget hate or envy, we are on this road together. There is no reason for spite, so let’s vibe and bond propelling our generation to where it should be.
Our balance is gone, but the challenge is on

Simple World: Freedom Edition

“Ain’t no destiny without free choice,” said the man.
He strolled into the store, late in the night, singing railway tunes. His voice was just right, enough to get some stares from the other customers.
Some moved away from the singing man, others just smiled between their teeth. He, seeing all, remained balanced without any form of the twitch one gets when in anger.
“Preconceived Judgment, is was it is, nothing more,” he told me. “This country belongs to anyone that’s here, it’s called the American dream”
His eyes were piercingly fierce so I had no choice but to hold onto his gaze.
“We are the sacrificial lamb” said the man.
His last words sank deep and it was there my mind stopped. My mind left the warm breeze of the evening, searching the meaning to the singing man’s words. Simple words are simple, but today on this bright cool morning, my thoughts find it hard to eat those simple bites.
There is nothing more for me to print but his already written words. I know more can be said. Things can be brought forth out into the space but there is nothing more for now. I smile knowing you invested your time, reading through these words. But his words are too strong to go on. For now I must digest. I must inhale my sanity and hope to hit paper soon.

Simple World: Body of Work Edition

It starts unexpectedly. The sleepless nights formed without no singular reason. Then they come out. At times without names, other times, named as they make a full appearance; funny faces, silly antics. They amaze you with their humor, their taste for sorrow; taking you with them on a thrilling ride. They become a friend or I dare say you.

Most of the time, they come out after destroying the inner parts of who you stand for; gradually tearing the binds you have had for so long. The fear, the longing for acceptance; everything you held back, they drag out forcing you out into the sun. To project balance, the log you stand on must understand the sole of your feet.

First came the end; the daily, weekly progression of their story. Did their stories fit? Who knew? But after the eyes are cleared or when the mind recedes to a night of proper sanity, you begin to see their life struggles. And then you smile knowing you have brought a part of you.

To you, they gave their life; a piece to admire or sulk in. To you the baton was handed. You either run the lap while the shouting rings out loud, or you wait the race ends then you run along amongst the quiet ones.

The next stage you fall into after surviving the progressive era is: the build-up stage. A place where the lights are more (maybe less) focused. Like a good MC, you hype the progressive era, building it up hoping to catch an eye from the stares you get.
The substance (progression stage) is there, now fill it up with details. Story wise, that is.

Simple World: After the Rain Edition

The night was here with the rain from the early morning. There was nothing but the drips of cloudy waters and the occasional tweets from a settling bird. Looking now, I knew the next chapter to my life was here; the wash away of my earlier mistakes. Looking forward, I had no idea of what the aftermath of the rain would be like or feel like. But this rain had the wind blowing nicely. It had me silent, thinking about all there was to come. Would the sun in the morning bring all my needed answers?
I wouldn’t know, I couldn’t.
The feel of this weather was all I cared for. It was my moment to sit and reflect of the coming times. To watch and hope the sun would later show; full blaze. With my shoes wet, I hummed the words of Mr. Marvin Gaye: “flying high in the friendly sky, without ever leavin’ the ground”. I sang it knowing there was no longer any sign of friendlessness in this world. Regardless, I enjoyed the wetness that fell from the starry blank sky.

Simple World: Morning Edition

The air itself was music. It was not self-imposing like the train noise echoing from a distant place neither was it chipping away morning lullabies like the birds on the poles and trees. It was amidst all, and everything around it was consumed by its unapparent presence. Without most knowing, life was giving away its most prized rhythms for free. And all who thought they could hear sounds of bytes were voided in the gift of hearing.

During a dreadful storm one does care about the shouts or cries of the sea, all that matters is coming out at the brighter side of the tale. Heroic, yet a good sailor not great (because there are no great) will listen to the ascending roars of the waves and with deep insight into the ways of the water, he or she will pass through with ease. Now we all have different paths, but regardless of the set road we have a singular end point; same destination. Some require rugged tricks to pull out from the beast of the sea. But no matter your gift, wise or unwise, understanding the waves of life will help you in finding that road you desperately need to embark on, and when or if you listen, maybe your path will call out your name; Loud and strong.

For the sins of man has been fully paid.
Nothing can stop the token your thighs received when you first echoed your cries.
Rebelling against even mata, a fist of odd thoughts.
Knocking on the door of joy, craving for the taste of sea.
Morning come, money go