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.