Totem.

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It took the intersection of my

Dispersed thought clouds, to combine vapoured yet

Paralleled lanes of understanding,

Into a richer, heavier, condensed form of thought.

 

It took, experiencing life through different lenses

For me to have a clearer picture of my intended purpose.

I bear stripes they try so hard to look past

Even as I tango at the center 

Of their one dimensional point of focus.

 

God gifted stripes in whichever shade you choose

Black or white, my enigmatic nature is of your making

Takes a closer look to understand parts of me

I would never dream of spoon feeding to you;

But that would be too much for you wouldn’t it?

Actually working for something, and thus, to you

I bid, Adieu.

 

Attempts at bridging positive thoughts to those 

That need them, with Reason(s) I can only hope

To remember when my days get darker;

Sad really, how you work so hard to gain my approval 

Even if it means you take the role of being the sole 

Source of toxicity in my social circle.

 

Uncustomary for a Champion to not take the time

To write for his people, my melanin brothers and sisters

“You are beautiful, let no one tell you otherwise”

And yet, within our ranks lie the uninformed,

Who sell our culture for cheap in a bid to garner cheap pops

To think slavery was a choice is a reality only you

Would bring from the plantation that binds you

In your mind.

 

A sell out like you could not begin to understand

That which we go through… …but let me stop

And take deep breaths, before I yield

To your wish

Of making this all about you.

 

– O.D. ©2018

 

Picture by: NicolasEvariste

 

Spoke to my father the other day, we were talking about my family totem which my grandparents (on every occasion) never hesitate making mention of. The Zebra.

My father said it was done long ago as a way of signifying clans or tribes (emblems of sorts) to help know who was in our bloodline. Furthermore, most of these totems were associated with character traits. An example he gave me was of those from the Buffalo tribe; how they’re considered to be short-tempered, I found it quite fascinating. 

I absolutely love Zebras (bias from it being my totem maybe) but it goes beyond that, the stripes resonate with me. Not to mention the all-powerful hind kick capable of shattering a crocodile’s jaw (Incredible!)

But I’m gonna stop now before this becomes a Nat Geo special.

 

Daily Post: Flaunt

 

 

 

 

 

 

Divine.

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You are, who you are

The world does not need

To understand your beauty

For it to make sense.

 

– O.D. ©2018

 

Art by: AlexanderIsPortraits

 

Foreign

Un·in·tel·li·gi·ble

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Culmination of each written piece:

Unearthed by the intertwining of multiverse mediums

My “Post-poetry-discovery” personality is past relatable; 

Constantly, I raise the peace sign

As a Self-defining Afrofuturist,

Champion of the Black Star,

Otherworldly ink slinger;

One, if not all, take your pick.

Not entirely the point of focus

As the only thing that needs understanding

Is my position in the war between dark and light.

 

Before I forget, woe to those

That would dare interfere

With the formation of my inner thoughts;

Often caffeinated as the ballpoint rolls,

Often told its a bad habit – or so rumour has it –

But, if that is indeed the case,

You might as well say the same

Of the source; the art form.

 

 

I dance between the parallels of perception

What you think you see of me 

May indeed be the remnant of my astral projection

As each verse does its best to compress

A different facet of my personality.

 

I am – to surrounding cliques

What Cinderella’s glass shoe is, to her sisters;

I don’t fit, even as they desperately

Try to wear me as their own.

See, when I say I’m transparent

Believe me, I don’t exaggerate

Like glass, you will see through me

But only get to see, what lies beyond me,

And not me.

 

– O.D. ©2018

 

Art by: Joshua Mays

 

Wrinkle

Africa

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“Always and forever yours, Africa”

I absolutely love this picture; a combination of the chosen aesthetic and power behind the stripes. I immediately got inspired.

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Out, standing,

As if to make existential, in the material,

That I am, indeed, outstanding.

Isolation facilitates

The unabridged flow of my thoughts.

 

My words and how I deliver them

Will undoubtedly trigger those

That would wish to have me in a position

That best suits anyone,

But me.

 

Black Magic is what I call my skin, 

I am the fable you grew believing does not exist,

I am that amalgamation of African spirits which

 Make me a nightmare to supremacists.

A sneeze? Please — perhaps even less,

Is more than enough to liquidate 

My supposed confinement.

 

How do I put this subtly?

“Your belief in my genius is irrelevant”

I am not your disciple; waiting eagerly

For you to say, what I inherently know to be true,

I am that intellectual phantom

You are yet to meet.

 

– O.D. ©2018

 

Photo by: sixreadrabbits

 

Wonder

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Unapologetic.

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Intertwined with the movement,

Liken me to a lightning rod, stationed

On this side of the cosmos, receptive to divine energies,

Power that would, in a second, fry the light bulb

Filament; your idea, left in a crisp

Assuming you’ll ever be better than me.

 

And when they say we don’t belong here, 

I couldn’t agree more, Backstory richer than Mansa Musa

Melanated Kings and Queens,

Rich in body and mind, were not made to dwell here,

One by one, Extracting them from this world,

For this prison, is not our home.

 

Your approval to me, as useful as a bonfire on the sun

Just a small dust cloud I vacuum, repackage

And send back to you;

I’m polite that way.

 

Multi-faceted champion, diamond,

Swerving an exodus through landmines

The floodlights don’t blind us, 

Rays serve as a reminder of our many sides;

Sides you try to hide, from the brain-washed

But it’s only a matter of time…

Watch this space.

 

– O.D ©2017

 

Rebel

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Champion Of The Black Star.

“Nobody’s as powerful as we make them out to be.”

-Alice Walker (The Third Life of Grange Copeland)

 

“I don’t want a Black History Month. Black history is American history.”

– Morgan Freeman

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Perhaps I really am arrogant

A speck of dust that chooses not to settle

On the sand dunes with grains

Filled with contentment,

But rather, hitch a ride

On the winds of change

Soar through turbulent skies

Finding my own truth

Not relying on that which I’ve been handed.

 

To fight for my people

Rather, the suppressors of a movement unhinged

A month is far from enough

Give me a platform

To praise the origins of the Black Star

And i’d rather use it

To address the blight in society

To expose the condescending confinement

Of a history that dwarfs

That which you choose to give.

 

I will not smile and be subtle in how I write

You weren’t subtle when you

Mistook our kindness for weakness

Bringing your “ideal” forms of change

Like you’re the definitive source of salvation

Cursing an entire race

To a legacy of cotton picking.

 

What do you call it again,

First World? Third World?

To who, you?

You trying to tell me

That as a continent

We are nothing until you believe 

We are something?

That all we could ever hope to be,

Is you?

Don’t make me laugh.

 

You shoot us in the knee cap

Run a thousand miles with OUR supplies

Then tell us to catch up?

You broke the rules, to make new rules

To break them,

Again.

 

Do not tell me to quell my rage

As you sip martinis in the comfort

Of foundations built on my forefathers

Blood, sweat and tears;

I am an incarnation of 400 years of rebellion

I am the echo that reverberates  

In place of those afraid to be perceived

As disturbers of peace.

 

Peace is not living under

A commercialized sense of happiness,

Peace is not lying to ourselves

And others that you see us as equals;

Peace is building awareness for your crimes

Peace is the admission, 

That you would not be where you are

Without us.

 

– Original-Dante ©2017

 

Art by:  tacsitimea

 

The Being Black Project.

Dunno how I forgot to post this piece, but I decided to considering it was laying idle in my drafts section. Besides, its been a while since I posted anything 🙂 . I’ll be returning soon though, count on it…In the meantime…enjoy.

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What does it mean

To carry my particular pigment?

Unaccomplished?  inferiority?

Rip your outdated memo and listen closely,

Because it means power, my friend

What else confirms our superiority

Other than the relentless effort

By supremacists to hide such knowledge.

 

My role is not to convince you

That what I say is true,

But hear this,

What you see on me as melanin,

You’d best reaffirm

As unintelligible dark matter

Coursing through my veins

At unsettling speeds

Settling well under my skin.

 

It would be convenient wouldn’t it,

To have a “Black history” month?

How kind of you,

To reduce our vast history

To a month,

As if it all fits …

Why is there no “white history” month?

If not to raise peoples’ consciousness

To the idea that we’re different.

 

Well then, if being different means

I don’t end up as manipulative

Or power hungry as you

Then I, in kind

Whole-heartedly accept.

 

– Original-Dante ©2016

 

Art by: JoelKelly

Questions #2

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Questions #1

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Because its different

Does it necessarily make it wrong?

Or is that kind of thinking

A reflection of the rational mind

Trying to justify

What the conscience believes

To be inherently wrong?

But is it really?

Or is questioning the aforementioned

A result of human nature’s shackles

Passively gearing everyone

Towards conformity?

– Original-Dante ©2016

Art by:  Ninjatic

Instrument For The Star Seed.

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 DISCOVER CHALLENGE: Designed For You

Have you ever loved something so much, or experienced something so perfect, that you’ve felt it was designed just for you?

I guess for me its writing, but that’s no secret, so I chose the source, my pen. Here’s a poem that expresses my love for the pen and ink.

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Motions with the pen 

Illustrating at mach 10,

Designing portals to my world,

The pen was, and has always been 

This Star Seed’s instrument,

To make visible, the transition,

Of intergalactic thoughts

All the way to intelligible form.

With this, I have the ability

To break-down how it feels

To moonwalk on ether,

As ideas orbit around me

In abundance, like star-dust

I reap them with a sickle

Better termed my crescent moon.

This instrument, is indeed

A conduit for my thoughts

Flowing at warp speeds,

Straight out of deep space,

On occasion, moving faster 

Than I can make strokes

With the ink.

With this,

I’m a stranger to seeking approval,

With this, I’m always aware

Of my inherent perfection

At ease, as I open black holes

With the suction force necessary

To cleanse my thought palate 

Of the negativity projected

By the insecure branches

Of humanity.

– Original-Dante ©2016

Art by:  SearchMyHeart

 

Purpose.

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The second my feet tasted earth

I knew I was different,

As peoples’ eyes mirrored

My light bulb high in the sky

Difficult to miss, as it is

That which you call the sun.

I am not a puzzle

That many “claim” to be

No, For I am that

Which stores the puzzle.

Been clear since day one

That I’m not here

To kiss up to those in power,

But to make them aware

They are specks to who I serve,

I’m not here to endorse war

But to enlighten the walking dead

On humanity’s wrongs,

Those who move, but don’t live

Those who have eyes, but don’t see.

I’m not here to impress

But to tell the truth,

And with that out of the way,

Etch it in stone

That I won’t let petty squabbles

Be what jeopardizes a movement

That is, in the simplest form,

Beyond your understanding.

– Original-Dante ©2016

Photograph by:  MarcoHeisler