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Reflect: Inky Drabbles

  • November 5, 2020
(Courtesy of Lauren Lee)

Afropunk

Creative power

punches through in

blues

funk

rock

disco

‘n’ hip-hop

Passion bleeds through the lyrics

Jazz and gospel blues singing through the rain

uplifted voices, beats soar above the canopy and waving arms

Afro.punK


Book burnings

sheets of music and worlds poured out

silent unrestrained tears

strips of wood burned

with letters stained red 

knowledge was stripped away, leaving pale empty scars

the world didn’t take notice of its loss


Dancing

light weaved between the drifting strands of the clear glassy ocean

fish dipped in-and-out, words echoing in floaty, warbly bubbles

Touched by gentle orange hues, tiny clownfish circled the waving arms of a anemone 

as a baby porpoise choked, collapsing in a intertwining blanket of cheap plastic


Doctors

Cold empty halls,

protective equipment

can it protect

the never ending hurt?

Besides teachers,

doctors are saviors

Life is a fragile thing to toy with

but not too fragile

that it can’t be fixed


Ink drops

I read during the

rainy nights, watching the

drops of letters,

ink,

that

can’t

be

controlled

.


Inside the globe

was a chaotic mixture of blue and green

Everything in it was frozen.

As I watched in fascination,

the clouds moved

the seas raged

the earth shook.

But the tiny sticks,

in shades of rich sunlight, dirt, chocolate, and raven

were still as stone.


Language

Open your mouth,

let a chorus of words fly.

Is it Navajo? Korean?

Italian? Or Spanish?

Armenian? Or Swahili?

Amharic? Or Bengali?

We need to open our eyes

Spheres of cultures dance around us

Reach up and pluck one

from the sky,

search within,

for a expansion

of your mind.


Light shines

The light I see

isn’t the sun’s kisses

or the dancing artificial lights

strung from post to post

in your backyard

It’s the smile of a young one,

It’s the bashfulness of a teen

The wise grin of a senior

and the dancing of the willow trees.

It’s in your bright, dark eyes.

Your soot-covered white shoes.

The fresh power of the season,

the heart that you unfold.

It’s in everyday mysteries

riddles, histories

A tumbling puppy from the shelter,

the sweat of a medical worker

The dying, glistening eyes

of a 22 year old prisoned in bed

no one in his family can be there

but the nurse, 5 times his senior,

shining hope

In the drops of dew on the shards of green

the broken but perfect pottery on the swinging chair.

A fluttering butterfly perched

on the edge of a plastic cup

in the field

Light is “light”

depends on what we say


 

Microscope

One eye held up to a leaf

where I see the same creases on my hand

a drop of dew collects at the tip

the green is almost blinding


Skin color

Underneath that coat of color

is that same blank canvas


Teachers change the world

instruments of education

Too low pay

They are the backdrop in the world

propelling leaders, engineers, CEOs, scientists, and doctors

They teach

They guide

They love

They are kind

Their teachings are the guidlines

that helps us to survive.

We grow

We heal

We are illiterate and blind

(to the ways of the world)

But

we can learn

we can read

we can climb

We can fight, 

to change the world

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