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| This poem was nominated by UN as the best poem of 2008, Written by an African Kid...
When I born, I black
When I grow up, I black
When I go Sun, I black
When I scared, I black
When I sick, I black
And when I die, I still black
And you white fellow
When you born, you pink
When you grow up, you white
When you go in sun, you red
When you cold, you blue
When you scared, you yellow
When you sick, you green
And when you die, you gray
And you calling me colored
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| like teardrops falling
washing each petal of grief-
until love is free.
--isce--
02.14.09
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| --solitude--
alone...
watching the playful
dances of birds flying
free, soft rustling of
leaves to render
my senses numb,
escaping freely into
a dream better left
forgotten...
while the gentle wind
commands my will
to fall into slumber,
if only to forget the
emptiness of being...
alone...
--isce--
06.19.08
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| --snapshots--
piece by piece
i've come to be,
of colors as varied
as the setting sun,
painted in the
canvass of dawn.
piece by piece
i hold on thee,
as the wave
of the sea
sweep my toes,
like panting melancholy.
while i surrendered
my stillness,
from the rising tide
touching my feet-
completely and peacefully.
my heart will never forget
the dawn in the wave,
of always the perfect place
that molded me,
as it touches me
on one crazy, crazy haze.
and my eyes gazed
upon the footprints
of my past-
naked yet never unsure,
now denied
by the warmth
of the tide's embrace.
the sun will be
brighter tomorrow,
a warmer tide will
touch my feet,
but i'll always remember
the paintings of my past,
as i create a better
snapshot today...
--monisce--
06.14.08
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| to a friend on his birthday...happy birthday mon
--the kite--
with the azure sky
you'll always be-
a wingless diamond
of utter simplicity
and grace...
in a solitary world
embraced by eerie
silence and mystery,
you drift with
relentless courage
beneath your
fragile dignity
and pride,
seemingly unfazed
and certain in the
cradle of enmity
and doubt...
and when tempest
disturbs your paradise
and stale clouds
defile your dream,
remember the hand
at the other end,
no matter how bruised,
holding steadfast
to its grip,
'til the end
to see you fly
again...
--isce--
12.17.07
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