The Black Man- A Poem
I Am Wendz
Bio: "A child of the cosmsos. A complicated beauty; raised on the edges of the visions of a rural girl, and a township boy. Plumped up by the sweet taste of sugar cane. Nostalgic wildlife running through my veins. My ever present childlike self embraced by my un-moving old soul. A gentle giant. A peaceful warrior."
The black man sees her but not quite
Sees her, hates her
She is weak
She is poor
She is broke and broken
Broken into and she does not belong in the house.
The black man sees her
And she is all the times no one stood up to injustice
She is all the anger from the injustice and the invasions
Invasions of the mind through their words and holy books
Invasions of her body
Through her hair, lips and between her legs
Invasion of her soul
Through doubt and ridicule.
The black man sees her and cannot love her.
The black man sees her and cannot love her
Because of everything she has come to be associated with.
And so she sits in the darkness,
Rocking and nursing cradles of infant black self-hatred
But the black man cannot see
That through her, he can face himself
Face the anger that is the truth
Face the injustice that is the truth
Face the house and all its trappings
And know and understand
That he doesn't even need to walk towards it
He is his own keeper.
But the black man cannot see
That he deems himself unsafe
...and so shall he be...
And so he looks for refuge through falsehood.
The black man cannot see that he is unsafe
So he looks for refuge from his darkness
From his poverty
From his delusions;
stories told of his people
But not from his people
He looks for refuge in anything that will not remind him of himself.
And so he cannot see her.
She is the truth.
Oh but if he wanted to see himself and free himself
He would face himself.
For She is He.
He would face Her.
Heal Her and so healing Himself
Love Her and so loving Himself.
If He wanted to see himself and free himself
He would emancipate Her and by so doing
Emancipate Himself
He would build a home for Her, by so doing,
He would have His own name on His own door on His own terms.
His home would look like Him;
Riddled with Restoration and Conquer,
Peace and Honour.
Dark and enigmatic.
It would be just.
If He wanted to see Himself and free Himself
He would take Her and lay Her down,
Touching Her neck, Her breasts,
Lips and Her hair;
He would teach Her honour.
And by so doing He would Honour Himself.
If He wanted to see Himself and free Himself
He would sit through the thunder storms that pour from Her mouth, and wait for the rain, the smell of rain on the pavements and the sands, He would wait for the green.
Teaching Her patience and self-restraint
And by so doing, teaching Himself.
The black man has the opportunity to rise,
To love himself,
To claim himself,
to be freed from the perceptions
And the spiritual muffling of self.
He has the opportunity to stand
Tall and free from the association of the fields and chains
He has the opportunity to say I Am, ‘
And never waver!
But the black man must find himself.
And She has everything He needs.
She has His story in Her hands, and His
strength in Her eyes.
Love Her.