ME AND YOU.

You are the inspiration that makes the bulb above my head light up with ideas the reason why I steer clear from the floosies and beer for fear of having my judgement clouded hounded by the indecency of a moment's lapse a moment when I let my guard collapse unintentionally in a synapse of abandon You ignite a fire in me that invites a warmth so nice Your words,linger on the tip of my tongue like ginger spicing up my plain life a pinch two fingers which You came into at the right time with a stitch and saved nine... Unlike Faith Evans I have faith even when my confidence fades when continents change their afflictions to suit an infected mind... Our sessions,conversations in low tones when I go down on both knees and purse my lips to faze my pleas in ways I know best not facing an interface since Your presence is omni and dense... I run my fingers through Your 'texts',Your sixty six book love-letter in a yellow pages fashion hoping to reap the passion that awaits me in Your mansion the beauty of Our relationship splashed on to a real asian ship in an intricate design one defined by a covenant a marriage between Us one that has me at war, shiping my old desires to exile and worshiping with my all coz I don't mind the way You take my breath away since You give it free to a smitten me the sacrifice to absolve and make me better has me looking up in the sky for something brighter than a star to wish on that every time We converse, I say thanks first and ask not for things but what I can do to serve You better,My God.

CLAUSTRO-NOT-SO-PHOBIC

My window sill is ebony black glass still web on it,dark rain spills everything cracked, sealed shut to keep out the elements,the dust and the clout that have my eyes sticking out enjoying the view or trying to spy joy in the view notice what's new the smoke,fire and stew but still peeping still creeping still sticking indoors where it's safe where the lies and AK's can't reach my ear spew idea's that instil fear, in the still clear consience thats my olny guidance coz only guys dance to gun-shots like butch and Sundance... Has me knowing that its not safe outside not safe to run behind Bolt if you aint Tyson, and not safe to eat ice-cream if you ain't Marvin fate using us as live bait as we wait we're preyed on by opportunity sprayed on by urea's acidity laid on by explicity so torn by ethnicity that we don't recognize the melanin, the pigment that makes us alike, or different all like the contrast that's God's intricate design not destined for confusion like that time at Babel or now when we con everything, from con-stituency to con-tinental with con-sistency we even con fusion... Killer priests with killer cysts who insist on charitable assists... Some from Nice others Espana some who Renato Sessana our innocent vijana mocking The Lord while singing Hosana out of spite... But who are we to judge, to throw the first stone when the givers have one hand in your pocket the beggars exposed to bullets the albinos our own version of leperchauns our greed after the pot of gold they've hidden at the end of the rainbow driven by egos we soil where we go emphasizing the fact that man is man's worst enemy, in this man-eat-man existance that worries me so the walls around me,they know me they protect me from me they eaves-drop as i channel my pleas and petitions to my maker...THE GRAND ARCHITECT... They protect me from the grand scheme of things, the suicide bombers directing their fury to the wrong place... The ashoessinators who love dead presidents but aim retired ones the jobless friends who mug and maim retired bums for a meal our to-be-brides who hit it with our dads for extra credits,give head to Deans as old as our grandads and the mystery that's survival so i sit behind this veil that's oblivion, this smoke screen that's smoke and mirrors,like its a drill... Waiting for that moment when doom ricochets on these same walls and puts me out of this stifling space that's caving in by the minute, no guns or roses, or guns and roses, just blood and cartilage splattered on cement, ashes to ashes, dust to dust, and Peace.

CLOUD NINE

You have drowned me in the insanity that is your love the type of love that I always crave for from the depth of my soul only way my sanity can be restored is by your love making one look from you is all it takes for me to surrender to your embrace my every curve you caress as I explore the wonder that you are sweetness in it's purest form is unearthed sweetness that I feel only when I'm with you sweetness I'm utterly forbidden to have with someone else no one can possibly sex me like you do,these words set on playback in my mind you take my breath away the pleasure holds my speech captive and what I want to say can find no voice in the midst of every breath every arch every kiss I can only hope my eyes will speak my heart © Nana.

THE BIGGER PICTURE

Ignorance smiles a mile at its victims those it piles under its thick timz those it trimz and leaves grim vulnerable and susceptible to gullibility and spasticity myopically blind to the decadence and uncouth the opulence of lies and untruths that their diet is comprised of a diet robbed of crude and corn by some brutes with brawn masked by a symbol of imp 'unity' the red,black and green that grants immunity to those that matter, those that shine the sides of the platter, those that line law's bread with butter and get away with a callous bis spatter. Plainly part of the bigger picture that's a state claiming sovereign, citizens suffer-

eing policies so foreign till there's no more rain to wash the pain dangerous to stay sane like playing chicken with a meat train this epic of a nation flushed down the drain eighty,a nice weighty percent comprised of a peasantly descent the next generation the one hoping to win the next election but don't stand a chance against the mature erection probably till the next session when "next" will be less of a law like Lucy a virtual Nation with less of the "Lawless" devoid of blame,characteristically blameless with aims ne(a)lly like Cornell Haymes jr. Or Ving Rhames the epitome of success in a black environment an environ meant to make a black mind fail to break the bias and take the crown change change rather than change the town engage rather than stage the bound tame age rather than make it sound incursive... a curse heaved on our shoulders by Adam and Steve whose city was incinerated by fire and brimstone enslaved to a ringtone that "rings" and "tones" our ears to the undertones politics and hostile zones the politricks that hurt our bones on a daily the gimmicks that spice our cable like bay leaf with no sodding bailiff to moderate or orderate my banter, unequivocally with an adlib like santa to close my cloze with... coz only a dim-wit would cave to the heresies peddled by a half-wit with an MSc. with sights at a HSC a Head of state commendation with no consideration to a higher deity a no-church-in-the-wild type with no loyalties masquerading as a patriot in state colors having stumbled into taxpayers haven floating in seventh heaven this dream of affluence foolishly realiz

ed at the expense of a once pure soul poorly sold to the tentacles of ignorance.

THE COLORED MIND

Her breath,choked by bureaucracies,exhales a story of turbulent seas rough and telling more than jenny sees taking it back to Genesis where it all started like Greek myth,before the flood of Noah,not Ramsey at the destruction of patsies the ones that got blessed not lucky and got saved descendants of the mercies of the Almighty from the loins of Kish, down generations of inventors,traders and scholars to the first universities in her young epicenter worriors and strategists emperors and pharaos to a dark worn out shell of memories vile those that have her tears flowing north tears her children called the Nile, tears never enough to wash the bile as her children were led away in single file her core, robbed of resource diamond and gold the knowledge and books stolen and sold the next generation held in a fold introduced to the slave-ship phenomenon on waters so cold their tough hands reduced to picking soft cotton the same one which eventually made the white T that the young colored male is enslaved to her dirge decries the failed state of affairs, the states stuck in arrears, the masks a statesman wears the war instigators diabolical agitators sadistical dictators political conspirators that her dear sons turned into, the toxic bug of foreign influence that had brothers at arms;not in each others arms embracing, wars full of foreign artillery which no one stops to ask from whence it came before fire engaging and pulling the trigger paranoia caused by mindsets disfigured a people lost brainwashed by populist theories at what cost? The land being robbed as the few successful minions toast boast and say prosit while the rest wallow and roast thinking what the bunch of angry farmers fighting for their land brought was independence yet still they drown in dependence not absolving themselves in repentance slaves of their own mind fueled by prejudices from their own kind judging by skin-tones and hair they find not as kinky or a little more silky than their perceptions can accept... Pointless wrangles and tangles that make mama bleed from the side the Congo river symbolically where Jesus got stabbed before he died as she hopes for tomorrow,AFRICA knows the hardest part of hope is the wait.