Let my heart bleed through this pen
#1
I see how they look at me
their stares, sneers and evil grins,
like they have never seen a black-man
in this neighborhood before.
When I go to throw my garbage,
when I open my door,
when I am blowing my nose,
I see the doors shut quickly
when I turn around,
I see the blinds close,
I see a shadow run
and their dogs bark
and show their teeth.
What are they looking at?
Is it my beautiful brown skin?
Do they want to run their fingers
on it to see if the brown
rubs off? No, thats silly!
Are they really looking at me?
Tata Nanje
April, 23th 2009
Alone
#2
From my childhood until this day,
I have not been like others were.
I have not followed the same road
that led to a place called home;
in my heart I could not find peace
nor could I smile, laugh and cheer.
These I could not find with ease;
Sorrow I have known through my years.
Hence in solitude I find peace;
with my pen and Milton’s Muse
who at times seizes to be,
and flees from my view.
So when I cried, I cried alone,
when I loved I loved alone.
Here, there, somewhere is home!
I have searched this wide world.
Where is a place were a hearth warms?
Where the wind breathes on my longing heart
and calms the storm.
All I find is pain and grief,
No home to wash my aching feet.
So from town to town I keep my beat
The manure keeps a print of me
In case I find a home in me.
Tata Nanje
April, 29th 2009
#3
The sun shines
where there are plants to grow;
so that the rhyme of nature
can continue to flow.
Everywhere we see or fail
to perceive the manifestation;
we are to appreciate
the simplicity in creation.
In that fraction lies hope
to perhaps behold the goodness in life,
whether in my land or to a faraway place
I find hope in a smile of a child.
Tata Nanje
April 4, 2009
#4
Let the waters wash all worries
and drain my heart and yours,
forgive my all seeing eyes
for seeing only injuries man pours.
Flows from his cup leaving a trail of tears
like injuries from a fathers right hand.
So I run to find another way
to reach the promised land.
But on this road I cannot help but to see
the wrongs and pains from that hand.
Run, run, run from a past that haunts the present
How deep is the quick sand?
Tata Nanje
May 11, 2009
#5 water
The rain has seized.
The trickling sound from the sewer is no more
and lilies spring on the field,
hoping they grow like a sycamore.
Reminiscing on the road taken
like Robert on a rocking chair,
hoping to revisit that place again
with memories from the cool air.
Maybe there is something there
That can free the mind once more.
Freedom of infantry
and experience are at war.
Tata Nanje
May 31, 2009
{ 7 comments }
Racism, sexism, homophobia, language barriers, cultural differences, just being different it seems can be the biggest sin across the world. We have been sheltered in our homes and in our university. We have been informed of diversity and uniformity, but no one addresses the “how do we all just get along first” or what is ‘it’ that brings people together as one–then the equality will follow. You doing a great thing without consciously knowing it. They are not looking at ‘you’ they are looking at your differences. This is very powerful poem. This is what I fight for everyday on a lower level in my research and here you are experiencing globally. You are in a powerful position not to make a difference, not yet but to observe. Silence the tongue and continue to speak with your pen.
I truely wish this was no longer an obstacle people of color still have to overcome. You would think that in 2009 the color of a persons skin would not depict who they are inside. A man of color holds the highest seat in America and we have people that are focused on his color rather than his ability to pull this country out of its current economic state. It is well beyond time for a change, but where and when will start?
I’m sorry that you’re experiencing any racism over there…but then again I’m not surprised. Jesseca is right…in that I usually associate racism with the south here in the US, but I guess its everywhere. Then again, if my pale freckles butt were to go somewhere where I was the minority I wouldn’t feel too comfortable either. Its definately not home. As a white person who was raised by a very different intellgent mother I’ve been taught to not even address differences in color. To break the stererotypes that are put on southerners as racist ignorant people, which is hard cause I’m a blonde, and blondes aren’t taken too seriously sometimes. lol. I see myself as someone who can show the world what it means to be a positive, loving person, regardless of what they may think of me. Hoping that it may open their eyes to the walls and borders they have put up, so that they may see that not all southerners are the same, nor Americans, nor blondes. If I can say anything, its to be PROUD of where you’ve come from. Its naturally a sense of our identity that makes us who we are, and there’s nothing wrong with taking pride in that, and wanting to share that with others. Whether you’re irish/scot like me, indian, african, asian, hispanic, whatever…like it our not we must live together in this world, so why not be tolerant, and appreciative of diversity in order to make the best of what we have. Cause this is all that we will ever be given ultimately…though we may all ultimately be alone, we are alone together. I hope this helps Tate. Think positive.
Hello Tate,
I spoke with Jesseca recently to find that you were teaching English in South Korea! This seems like an exellent opportunity, despite the struggle you’ ve poetically outlined above, to experience another culture. I especially liked your “About Me” section as well. I didn’t know that you were from Camaroon. I have another friend, Stalleon, from Cameroon as well.
From what I’ve read so far, you are an adept writer
Use that gift! Your pen will truly be mightier than any sword used to eradicate oppression and/or discrimination in the world. I look forward to reading your blogs, and will do my best to “stay tuned.” Also, know that you and your students will be in my thoughts and prayers.
Blessings,
Lovely
In poem two: Home is not a place. It is not about traveling to different states or countries, which many people often think. I know this is a cliche’ but home is literally where the heart is. If you don’t know where your home is, then it simply means you do not know where your heart is…this boils down to uh oh
GREAT poem.
Antonio Machado (Spanish poet) wrote “we make the road by walking…” Although we may have clarity in our minds of where we are going and how we will get there, we do not really understand the high and lows of our travels, especially when we are in the midst of them. I have learned that the value of these experiences is great, though not fully comprehended until much later in life and unfortunately with some, it never even happens. You are insightful, a gift you have been given. You will, as distance takes it’s hold on where you are, garner the full value of these growing pains, and in the end, as the phoenix, RISE.
Poem 3: Praise Him for a child’s smile, but if the child is bad…Lord help him. Glad you are finding strength in the children.
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