MLK Quote, 1967

“Whites, it must frankly be said, are not putting in a similar mass effort to re-educate themselves out of their racial ignorance. It is an aspect of their sense of superiority that the white people of America believe they have so little to learn. The reality of substantial investment to assist Negroes into the twentieth century, adjusting to Negro neighbors and genuine school integration, is still a nightmare for all too many white Americans…These are the deepest causes for contemporary abrasions between the races. Loose and easy language about equality, resonant resolutions about brotherhood fall pleasantly on the ear, but for the Negro, there is a credibility gap he cannot overlook. He remembers that with each modest advance the white population promptly raises the argument that the Negro has come far enough. Each step forward accents an ever-present tendency to backlash.” -Martin Luther King, Jr


On stones and Honor

There are many ways of dying. So many ways to die. So many ways. A Pakistani woman died a few days ago. She is dead. She died at the hands of her family. She must have tried to protest or fight off the assault. I can imagine her screaming out her father and brothers name: “Please! Help me! No!”. I can hear her screaming even now. Calling out helplessly. I can almost sense her fear as the first stone cast her body, she must have known what was to come. Looking to her father who has aided in both her creation and her destruction. As she continued to scream the sticks and stones only grew in number and size. They wanted blood. They had come for her blood. Blood to be shed in the name of honor. I see her catching her final fleeting breaths, in pain and agony. I can imagine her surrendering to her fate. Did she pray to God? to Allah? What were her final thoughts as she lay there? Onlookers silent but hungry with shame and a sick desire for a free show. A cheap spectacle to ease their own suffering for a moment.Standing back and watching her soul leave her body, watching her spirit pray love over her defeat. They see it all, hungrily taking it in. And much too soon all that was left was a corpse and a vague story of how a woman loved a man but should not have because her family was against it so they stoned her to death for dishonoring their wishes by loving who she should not have.But now all that is left is a dead woman outside a court house. Ladies and gentlemen, here is justice.

“When I am writing, I am trying to find out who I am.”

Thank you Mama Maya

The Daily Post

Maya Angelou by Spanglej, CC BY-SA 2.0.Maya Angelou by Spanglej, CC BY-SA 2.0.

Words mean more than what is set down on paper. It takes the human voice to infuse them with deeper meaning.

Find a beautiful piece of art. If you fall in love with Van Gogh or Matisse or John Oliver Killens, or if you fall love with the music of Coltrane, the music of Aretha Franklin, or the music of Chopin — find some beautiful art and admire it, and realize that it was created by human beings just like you, no more human, no less.

There is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside you.

The idea is to write it so that people hear it and it slides through the brain and goes straight to the heart.

When I am writing, I am trying to find out who I am, who we are, what we’re capable of, how…

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Friend, You are not alone

Friend, You are not alone.

Even in life’s worst days and nights. Believe me, you are not alone.

Yes, the rocky road can seem rockier on some parts of the journey.

Yes, the waves may tower over you, engulfing you.

It might seem difficult to see beyond where your eyes meet the faraway horizon.

But believe me friend, I may not be there always. But you are not alone.

It is hard now but it won’t always be.

Think on caterpillars and butterflies, darkness and dawns.

And remember you are never alone.

Thinkings on what could have been


Its funny where we thought we were but really weren’t.

All those promised “i do’s” and forgotten “i love you’s”,

They sit in a corner at an angle which seems to mock my blindness.

To believe in something so truly and so desperately.

Lying somewhere close to what resembles what could have been.

But never quite getting close enough to touch it.

We played it safe, never undressing the present nor caressing the future.

On the edge of what could be and what was- we waited.

It felt familiar but in some ways distant and cold yet it consumed us.

Looking out into the horizon we watched it evolving without our manipulation.

Maybe we willed it to die for fear of the unknown, for fear of what we would be powerless to.

It was easier to exist between the fire and the rain.

But did we ever even exist?

Returning to here

I like it here. Within the confinement of my mind.

I like it here. Where I can hear my soul praying, my spirit pleading.

I like it here. Where lipstick stains coffee cups without apology.

I like it here. Where eyes meet- searchingly and beautifully.

I like it here. Where questions fall and are brought to life unanswered.

I like it here when I forget the here and I come back


Dear Mr President Sir

Dear Mr President Sir,

You may have blocked the cries. But I cannot not.

The cries of the young and the helpless resonate deep within me when I am alone.

Can you not hear them crying?


Dear Mr President Sir,

The sound of Hawa’s cries woke me this morning. And I smelt the sound of fear.

The unconscious confession of a memorized verse of the Qur’an met me in my dreams.

Do their tears of blood not wash over you too?


Dear Mr President Sir,

They are real, they have faces and they are alive.

They are not a mystery nor are they ghosts.

Their present invisibility should not be misunderstood.


Dear Mr President Sir, they must return today.

Before the wrath of God falls upon us.





the becoming of unbecoming

And when she finally put the mortar and pestel down.

She knew he would be happy.

Maybe he would finally love her. He would pull her close.

He might even buy her gold, a gold chain? A gold bracelet? Perhaps even a ring to match?

Oh, but this didn’t really matter. After all, gold was gold, abi?



She had been working so long.

But she knew that his happiness was going to bring about hers too.

After all, who was she, without him?

Ade ori mi

She pounded a few more times making sure it really had become dust.

The sun bore her witness and the wind wiped her sweat.



Tightening her iro, she rose.

He peered in. She wondered why he had made her do it, but quickly banished the thought.

It was crazy to wonder; even to ponder what a woman should want dreams for, hopes, and expectations.

He had made her put each an every one of hers, into the mortar and pound them all to dust.

He told her what was his was hers.

But all she had was herself now, so she was his.




Unlocking Facets

I wish you would allow yourself to see me,

For all that I am.

I am the prayers of many who now lie still, the pains of a woman whose dreams she has washed and cried away.

I am the joy of transformation, the new age.

Can’t you see? 

I live and love for many.

The tears cried before the beginning ripple in my heart. 

If only you could fathom this, accepting the many facets that could make me yours.

These facets I cannot reject nor refuse, for they make me all you see.

All I ask is that you let your mind comprehend the possibilities of the beauty this could create.

Cease from closing your mind to this beauty and just let it be beautiful.

Unlock these facets and love me whole.