The Echo of Jancember

January and December

I said the same thing

in one year

the sound echoed across

365 days

and the same thing I said in January

I finally heard in December

As I was saying it again in December

2 echoes joined the other 2 million echoes

of words

and thoughts

and feelings

who all said the same thing

over and over

the same thing

again and again

they we echoed.

The same thing January

as we said in December

And the echo never stopped

and I never hear it

even when I speak it.

But somewhere inside I listen

and my stomach hurts

and my head aches

and the nightmares continue...

The deafening sound

of the echo of Jancember.

Witness

I saw a being

from another place

living a life

This life was long

it was quiet

at times loud with heartbeat

fear.

Hope?

I saw a being

through some other eyes

watching the same being

wondering.

I saw a being

knowing herself

doubting what she saw

I saw a being

feeling a sound

inside her brain

that spoke truths

I saw a being

moving inside a being

reminding

What?

I saw a being

dreading regret

running hard

towards the sun

I saw a being

laughing

tears rolling down one cheek

that laugh was sooo good

saliva glands

watering for more

belly aches of joy

I saw this being

being still

with courage

to listen to her heart

and then move.

El Aguacero de Chola

Welcome de los 30.

La reina chola lloraba de soledad
El aguacero de lagrimas la ban~aba de sal
Y su madre le cantaba
Mi Hijita no llores mas
Porque aunque no me sientas cerca
De ti no me voy a olvidar
Aunque no escuches mi voz, dijo su padre, por ti no dejo de orar

Al ba~no de agua sal
Fuente rota de mar
Y la criatura en su vientre
Nadaba...

La reina ni~na la chola
No supo poder parar
El nudo agonizante que la queria ahogar
El dolor dentro de su pecho que no queria calmar

"Y la soledad adentro de su alma que la supo arropar. Tengo hijos y un esposo y de salud no sufro na
Tengo salud y trabajo
Pero aun no puedo calmar
El ba~no de lagrimas que no sabe parar la soledad de no tener al lado mi sangre,

la gente que me supo criar, y no tener que tragar costumbres ajenas de otra tierra

donde solo quise pasar,

visitar sin quedar,

na'mas

probar. "

Ahora las enrredaderas de la vida la supieron atarar a esa tierra, y la soledad la supo atrapar.

Y ahora la soledad te ama Cholita, y nunca te va' soltar.

"Estoy cansa y quiero libertad y en aguas dulces me quiero ban~ar, sola.

Sola quiero estar, mejor sola de verdad que supuestamenta acompan~a,

donde mis deseos no se escuchan y mi madre tan lejos esta,

donde me gritan y me ignoran y mis palabras no valen na.

Prefiero quedarme sola que parcialmente acompa~na."

Y ahora la soledad te ama Cholita, y nunca te va' soltar.

Obatala

From Orin Orisa

by Baba John Mason

"Obatala is the sculptor of divinity who, with his bill-hook cutlass, creates and shapes the body of man. He shapes the baby in the womb of its mother. He is the father of those who are beautiful and those who are deformed...The Yoruba see Obatala as the ideal model of ritual and ethical purity. He demands high morality of all his subjects, but of his children in particular. The unblemished whiteness associated with him symbolizes the purity of his character. 'The worshippers of Obatala must be upright and true: they must be clear in their hearts and behavior like water drawn early in the morning from a spring that has not been previously disturbed. Thus their lives would be as clear as such water. Obatala strongly advises us to practice monogamy. As the oral traditions have it, he himself is a monogamist...Obatala makes his worshippers great; he makes them increase and multiply by giving them children. He showers material blessings upon them. It is said that he stands by his children, makes them materially prosperous, and gives them reasons for laughter.

Obatala is "Iku ti ba ni gbe le ti 'f' ola ran ni!--Death, you who resides with a person and imbues him with nobility. Death is a designation often used for a being or person of high authority who is believed to have the power of life and death."

We are Sugar People

By the mid-1500's the Dominican Republic and large sugar producing regions like La Vega shifted their eyes from gold mining to sugar production. The need for more Africans, grew. Africans hailed primarily from the Angola & Congo regions---(Carlos Andujar)...

The Sugar People:

We are here because of sugar.

We made the world taste sweet.

The ingredient was our ancestor's sweat.

We are here.

What is sweet about it?

The world powers fed sugar showers

mixed cocktails of our sorrow

to the point where today

Black people

White people

are still sugar high.

Give us something, anything

to make this sorrow go away

because we're right next to each other

and we still feel lonely

disconnected from each other

severed from our ancestral land

despondent.

Our heights are rooted in low earth

that gives way to flood waters in

New Orleans

Jimani

waters that bring dengue

and disease.

we fear and respect our Mother, water,

the fertile creation force,

Pain and All

she is our mother

She cleanses us

from a sorrow that swallows.

Waters drown it out loud

and surrender straight into her.

Mother

make sense of this sugar sorrow.

Saliva push back the yearning for

the sweet.

Sugar cane, stand up straight and take me to the sun.

The truth about it

The truth about it is that we've all been lied to.

We all get that bad feeling in our stomach, that we are less than worthy of the truth.

You lied about when, where, with whom, why. You lie about what you did or didn't do, to make others like you? To like yourself more?

You lie about how you really feel.

You say it's nice, but it's really ugly.

You say good morning, but it's been shitty and may get worse.

You lie and say you're okay, but you ain't. 

Lie about how much it hurts, but that's not really what hurts, it's something else.

Lie about what you wish for, lie about whether you're standing in your own way or not.

Lie lie lies. Little white black yellow big fat lies.

I think the weird thing about some other people is that they always tell the truth.

You know, like TOO mUch truth?

Did you really have to  say what you really felt right there? That was cold.

Why couldn't you just you say it was going to be okay? Dang, that hurt.

Truth is I'm tired of lies.

I'm not lying about it, at least not to myself, not anymore.

I'm tired of your bullshit excuses, of how much you can't be honest with yourself about what you really feel. where you're really at. 

So stop lying, and embrace the spirit of truth.

The truth is, it's over.