Opened my eyes
I’m still seeing
I'm still breathing
I'm still dreaming
I'm still achieving
Trust in the Creator
I'm still believing
Peace in my heart
I'm not stressing
I'm leave this world
I found it
I'm a blessing
Oh, Black Woman Sing!
Sing your song. Sing!
With all the harmonies in our triumphs.
With all the lamentations of our souls.
Sing Black Woman!
made melodies from their moans,
found rhythm in their righteous indignation,
found the beauty in their beat,
and kept time on their own.
Your vocals are thunder,
your nature is courageousness.
You are a well-spring of beauty anew.
Oh, Black Woman, you must
never be ashamed of you;
never cloth yourself in silence.
If the act of living is like a song,
sing life Black Woman!
Sing your song!
Jacqueline Nicole Harris
I see you.
Maybe I can't stand your words sometimes.
Maybe I wish I didn't have to bear the brunt of your words in your art, in your music, in your soul sprouting words of hate as you call out "bitch", "ho", and on and on and on.
Maybe it tears at my inner being, my very existence to face your rage and your often misguided pain. Yet, you must know, I see you.
Maybe I cry when you kill each other for ridiculous reasons, because someone snitched or you felt disrespected. Maybe I circle the mirrors in my mind asking, "why" when the powers that be are shooting the children in the streets.
You don't have to end each other anymore! The system is handling this for you now and the time at hand is to live!
Maybe you can't feel or see or fathom that I am trying to get you to understand, that maybe I handle my rage differently. Yet, that does NOT mean I don't see you.
I see you! I hear you! Maybe, my prayers to The Most- High, The Beneficent, The Great I AM will allow YOU to see me. Maybe you will see that if somehow, some way, we as your first teachers have let you down, then it was not intentional and that I know that we do love you.
Maybe, just maybe you will know that only through loving communication will this utter madness cease; this loss of precious life; this endless trauma must end. I hear you. I am listening. I am reaching out to you, my hand, do you see it? Well, any way, know this, Beloveds, I see you.
Lauretta Ali © 2014