Watching the flame

Every injusticeHas its own guardsLow paid in the currencyDefined by ownersRewarded with the prideBroken hearts try to settle withDestroyed trustIn the only flame Followers spat on The unspoken passionOf a life to be discovered

Heart opened by a loved son


Love superiority

Love is..., when I go for a walk in my lover’s garden
As if we shared one large one
Well, this is the problem, my ex-husband told me,
In those walks you encounter doors which you don’t even seem to see
You enter them as if non-existent
And when you find them closed
You start banging like a mad woman
Until someone answers and very reluctantly opens
Those doors are there for a reason
And their respect is part of the expectation
We had finally come there, in our shared garden
Exhausted in resisting
The friendship that at the very beginning
Started journeys beyond imagining
The doors are there to hide; the one who wishes hiding
Shame; Pain
Doors of dreamed superiority
Claiming inferior
The actuality
The garden there to guard
Memories aimed at creating a me
Scared to walk free
If I am questioned
By facts which is honesty
A respect for truth, the unnamed energy strangled
By the corrupt comfort of ignoring
What's living
We'd learn from fear and its hiding
And its frustrated hope of future-mastering

Raising a man

What is a man?What has a man been to me?Not in theory, in actuality
The privilege given by musclesOften used to hitThe privilege of cultural biasOften used to unjustly demeanIn the weak competition To "be something"Deceptive armsHiding
So a man, one who doesn’t use privilegeBecause he sees cowardice in itThat man would have cared for his children with meIf he had been alive, as a man
I did it alone sons,The best I couldBut if in turn you use privilege to pretend to manhoodIf you use convention to justify lyingIf in a nutshell, you do not know how to love anyone
Let me tell youI will not accept Another adult relationship Where I am hurt for being in it 
Love only comes when fear is gone
It is easy not to fear the childIt is beautiful, humbling, to watch oneself carefullyIgnoring the privilege given to deceive and winWin the false peaceOf a violent silence lived
A man isn’t anything different to me sons,Only more muscles,And the responsibility that comes with it

Too... black ...human... woman... to be... enough

As a child, on sandy beaches in ItalyWhere is your mum?At school, during performancesWhere is your dad?Everywhere needing feeding Where is your degree? In Kinshasa, brought there by work and necessityWhere is your ring?At softly noisy parties, cigarette wind blowingWhere is your lover?...When I had given all I hadTo “earn” our livingBut honestlyDid not know anymore How to feed my two children fairly  I accepted five years The loveless mean and scared hand Of the white colonial manHoping that money and despise could both fit in one same battlebed...I nearly died of shame, Understood myself and othersResurrected by anger and painAnd eyes of loveDiscoveredRememberedGivenSomehow brought me to enough sky, birds and trees, Not too far away from the seaWith enough strength to reply " What do you mean?" To the old white doctor in the interview panel who asked“What about your partner”?

Falling in love beyond imagining

I fell in love, watching you comingTowards meAt once ecstaticUntil fear bestowedUnable to imagine The expected sexualityIn the miracle of burning passionThus deprived of the expected pleasureWhich usually drivesThe stillborn searchOf “love”, its miracle Unable to imagine I let it all dig its own coffinFearing not to be guidedBy thought shaping future (un)realityFearing discoveringAnd thereforeLovingBut maybe I am just hiding Behind the hurtThat you never shared my feelingsWhich I imaginedShould have been happeningNot knowing at the timeLife isn’t knowing

"My love is my soul's do I love you? Imagine" 

"...and if you lie about that, if you lie about that, you lie about everything"