Tag: life

White

Best Served With: Fragile by Eryn Allen Kane

Link: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tn00YGkNHr8

Image result for glass half empty and white

 

White is such an impressionable color,

Purity’s playground yields no lover,

Graceful swing sets dance and suffer,

Redemption breathes a putrid odor,

 

White is such an impressionable color,

White lines can call you to hover,

White straps will tell you to shiver,

White is often clear as the prod in your prognosis,

 

White is such an impressionable color,

White leaves a smell but has no odor,

And when a try births a way of life

White whispers; “sell your back for me,

sell your lips to get a taste of me

And as I flee sell your waist for me”

Until it pushes out a life

Siren that heralds your strife

Discarded destinies; bits of a bride.

 

White is such an impressionable color,

Quick to stain and hard to wash,

O, if Hades had another life,

Perhaps Cerberus would be a German shepherd,

His hand the bedrock of joy not poison,

And the underworld naught but exotic,

But Fate remains an obedient soldier,

Following the rivers of life and time,

 

As a child, his first toy was a bullet,

That doubled as his father,

He used it to toy with lives at the butt of the barrel,

But it protected his from thugs and scoundrels,

He fell in love with Robert Frost,

And read his work to maggot-infested sand structures,

With a bullet resting in their brains,

 

He never left his streets though,

And the bloodier the battlefield,

The bigger he basked in it,

Remember, white can be stained or spiced.

 

White is such an impressionable color,

That morphs to blue when I go to school,

Painted silence I stifle from chuckles and good intentions,

Whose eyes gloss over the black in my nappy hair,

The depression seated in my eyes,

The messengers of violence tapered on my skin–

Their stamps praising their destination—

Those eyes, those cold eyes,

Tell tall tales tackling the tenacity of tempting trivia,

Because gods don’t lose sleep over the plight of peasants.

 

White is such an impressionable color,

And I choose to shape that white

Which is why this little black boy,

This failed black boy,

This typical black boy,

Is a duty of mine

Thus, I will ask paper questions,

And show glass concerns of his body,

 

He has no white left,

Corrupted at his best,

Disgusting as incest,

Dare I test?

Dare I tell him lies about himself,

Dare I tell him true happiness sips the surface of my skin?

Dare convince him to work hard till he hits the glass ceiling?

And when he irritates me,

Dare I tell the truth?

 

That he infects his world with his oyster,

That his inferior skin places a monkey between humans,

That his scars are so deep that his white has frayed?

Remember, white can be stained or spiced.

 

White is such an impressionable color,

Da Vinci can draw on a canvas but so can Loki,

And Loki, in his twisted mind,

Drew the story of a black girl,

Grey eyes, natural hair, tough but slender,

High School, Harvard, big time moneymaker

Whose abusive father’s voice faded the more she achieved,

But cannot hold a man down,

Because deep down she still feels like a lucky slave,

Who happened to find good leftovers from the master’s table

 

See every time her father hit her,

He did so with both hands,

Upper and lower,

And every time Daddy apologized,

He stroked with both hands too.

Daddy is in jail now,

And she owns many men,

Many, many, many men.

So, Loki’s story ends up seeming like Da Vinci’s,

But remember, white can be stained or spiced,

And the painting is never truly free of its canvas.

 

 

Should I be free to want more,

Should I be free for freedom’s sake?

White is such an impressionable color,

But white,

In its truest form,

Is free.

 

Elano’s Notes

When I think about the glass half empty or full dilemma I realize it is all about perception. Every situation can have two contrasting perspectives; one good and one bad. We all enter this world as blank slates. Our environment, experiences and ecosystems write on us and the writing can be artistic or destructive depending on who is reading. Sometimes, I am stunned at how easy it is for people (myself included) to judge and conclude on others based on something as basic as how they look. We often forget that people are complex creatures who are often multi-layered and who have desires and worries just like we do. So I cannot help but think of writing–any writing– as a shackle to who you are because it allows others to judge and assume, sometimes before you even get the chance to say your name. That is why white is so impressive to me. I am amazed that such a boring color is so historically rich, textured and dynamic. White can be everything and nothing at the same time. It is a blank slate but it will always be a clear part of its end-product.

I am not a part of my end-product. Are you?

Let me know what you think in the comments.

After I Sleep…

Best Served: Fool for you by Snoh Aalegra

Link: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=i4st3FlEPQ0

Image result for dream-like landscapes

 

Fire and ice were born to mix,

To flirt as the flesh and the mind do,

An arrogant ant limps across the tired floor,

Without two legs, a wing and a mandible

It continues; shuddering in pain with every step,

Behind it, an excited thumb chases in ecstasy,

In front, its sugary paradise beckons,

 

It trudges on before…

SNAP, there goes a leg,

SNAP, another follows,

Whimpering as pain racks its body,

It will endure till its destination.

 

It slaps the ground with hurried steps,

But a gluttonous shadow looms over,

With its last strength it jumps,

And as the cautious air whistles in wonder,

Its beady eyes shrink in disbelief,

For its sugary paradise has vanished,

The cold floor hatefully heckles it

As an awkward landing seats reality,

 

Pain immediately crawls up its legs,

The looming shadow now oppressing the deck,

Crushing it without a chance to cry or beg,

In its eyes the paradise had become an icy mountain.

 

See the ant was not scared of its death,

That was inevitable.

It was terrified that the paradise it so struggled for,

Was unreachable.

 

Life is a child that plays with living toys,

He tortures and breaks them down to bring him joy,

No stopping or reasoning; no parent or envoy,

No ounce of understanding; just plain acting coy.

 

To him it’s a game, to us a despicable ploy,

So I ask you:

Is he a reckless God or an innocent little boy?

Hermes’s Instructions

Best Served: Corny by Rema

Link: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=V6GBa-qEzqw

Image result for hermes greek painting

 

We are all messages to another,

At least before we crumble, burn or soak

Our uniqueness mirrored in the handwriting,

Used by Life before it mails us,

A hive of black and white,

Bow all the colors in between,

For every destination we reach

An experience

A mistake

A blessing.

The river of Time glistens indifferently,

And we just float in it.

With our tips just breaking the smooth surface,

Our dry stamps naked for all the world to see.

 

But point to any letter in that translucent river,

It will tremble or defend as you pick it,

So, you must soothe its surface

And straighten its creases,

I promise, it will relax and let you in.

 

Fan out its damp vulnerabilities,

Not too quickly that it separates from you,

Not too slowly to allow the harsh wind defile it.

 

Gently remove the seal,

As though a delicate glass in rough hands,

Nibble; do not scrape,

Never rip for that is rape,

Take time until it is agape,

For it takes years to make,

A lifetime to remake,

But only a second to break.

 

And when the white carriage is open,

The paradoxical princess alights,

The black army in a white battlefield, small or several.

But all you will ever see,

Is a conversation between the pain of the past and the hope for the future.