When I get reincarnated
I want to be born into the Tutsi tribe.
Their average height is six feet.
And please God, could I be six foot six?
Categories:
tutsi, 10th grade, 11th grade,
Form: Free verse
.
they beat the drum
clacked on rock
clicked their tongues
clapped hands
goading me on
for mine gyrate
with
the king's
feminine
flock
Categories:
tutsi, adventure, africa,
Form: Free verse
It’s the rewrite of horrors noir, with no thobe, just a Kufi, and dirty black sweats.
Vibrations striking ears with no lobes show precisely how dirty black gets.
A screenshot of a touchscreen keyboard shows the flows when nerdy blacks fret.
Colossal pets are healed and rebuilt by the pens of wordy black vets.
That fish looks good, Girl.
Get the oil ready, while I toil steady on the soil levy, to keep my domain imminent.
I’l be back for lunch, libations, and lineaments, while we plan our way out of cursed tenements.
Massage my back with that juicy a**. Attach a nipple to my goose skin flask, and I’ll revise the countenance on your Tutsi mask, and rewrite the horrors noir.
Categories:
tutsi, adventure, america, black love,
Form: Rhyme
The Belgian masters of old
gave in to the devil's wish,
offering Tutsi blood to
fill the Hutu tribal dish.
Wretched souls hacked asunder
killed in the shadow of fear,
corpses soaked in crimson blood
yet, the world shed not a tear.
The presence of God's church was
absent from the bloody scene,
hidden from reality
cloistered lives remained serene.
The victims were voiceless as
slaughter grew to genocide
yet very little was done,
the tragedy's swept aside.
The U.N. helped the Belgians
sneak away and dodge the blame,
while Roméo Dallaire got placed
in charge, to deal with their shame.
Forced to witness torture and
the mutilation of girls,
his hands were tightly tied by
Canada's shameful dictums.
The sheer weight of Rwanda's pain
weighing heavy on his soul,
he wrote a book, exhuming
lives hate buried in a hole.
(Quatrain)
9/5/2017
Categories:
tutsi, abuse, angst, anxiety, conflict,
Form: Quatrain
From the blood stain
Like an effigy helpless in the street
Your history rise again
The marble consciences to meet
Every tragedy is a failure of omniscience
Telling the perfidy of our mortal sense
After the revolution had been gutted
By the silence for peace
I stared tear besotted
At the Tutsi long deceased
His mouth aloud in prayer
That this world did not hear
I too lost more than you that day
I lost faith in figures of similitude
Courage melt like ice on sunny day
And for nothing we give all away.
Let me live in world where alone
Your spirit dares the stony memory
Let me anathema to political thrones
From my garden grow your history.
For it was then Medea-Persia that
Scattered us like grains
And thought we were just bats
Blind and certain for one role
That by which the world knew its fear
And drove the old Dravidian dread
Before my little flower shed her tear
Before they left her crumpled, dead.
Categories:
tutsi, historyworld, lost, lost, me,
Form: Free verse