Black Fire Depository.

You can call me black — no harm done,

Limitations of language and understanding.

You can even take it to the 70s and go full Rhodesian

Despising and metricizing worldly pigments.

 

 It’s not your fault for being that stupid — they call it dualism of the mind

And you, my friend, are a slave to one side of that coin

Shackled, to the fickle nature of hauling five senses.

Collared, lovingly, to the physical realm — like a mangy dog neglected by its owner

You are in the late stages of spiritual starvation; married to earthly hallucinations;

I don’t expect you to see past that mirage —

To see how my spirit burns, a blaze untamed

In a reality you’ll never understand.

 

Diagnosing me as the devil is the first step to misidentifying my presence

Demon possessed? Maybe.

Are you afraid? You shouldn’t be.

I’m beyond such petty schemes

Peddling cheap scares — pandering — placating

Surface level habits that give me nothing.

You’d do well to call this a panoramic view of satori —

I see it all. The collective sequence of events that denote your existence

I was built to be a passive observer of humanity’s choices and lack thereof.

Your life will begin and it will end with the deterministic value of a movie reel

And there I’ll be,

Using this body you hate so much to live through yet another Earth rehearsal;

Living through yet another time where you’ve seized to exist.

Confessions of a star seed:

This body will pass on

But my spirit and vision will continue pursuing what’s beyond;

Maybe as a sick joke next time I’ll possess one of you.

 

Dear racist, if all of that flew over your head

Do me a favor and at least try to understand this:

“You hating this flesh — this color,

Is not a waste of my time;

It’s a waste of yours”

 

– O.D. ©2020

 

Art by: ricardothb

 

I’m not in the mood to be nice. To be fair, I haven’t been in that mood for a while now.

When the BLM chants gained steam early this year, I refused to write about it here. Felt insincere as there were plenty of people voicing what I already felt. Furthermore, I’m not guided by some ethical imperative that dictates I prove my loyalty as a black person every time there is an injustice. It doesn’t make me more empathetic to be involved. I don’t need to prove myself. Simply look at how many posts I’ve written regarding black injustice (tracing years back) to see what I mean. I was speaking against injustice long before George Floyd’s unfortunate murder. There have been many others who people seem to forget and I fear listing all of them right now would dilute the point I’m trying to make.

Appealing to racists and entertaining their worldview (even as an Empath) is far too much for me. There are bad people to be found in all races, but many people are quick to try and play devil’s advocate before they catch up on their history. I’m talking Tulsa race massacre, the Tuskegee Syphilis study e.t.c .

Honestly? Do that first, then get back to me. 

And before you say that all of these events “took place ages ago” and I should move on”, I in kind, would gladly ask you to go f*ck yourself.

 

Wishes Vs Reality.

rain__by_bartoz.jpg

As much as I wish

To take credit

For the tap dancing you hear

In the background

All praises

Are to be directed

To nature’s downpour.

– Original-Dante ©2016

Photograph by: BartoZ

Giving Direction.

lightning_strike_one_by_htpb.jpg

Time it perfectly

And you’ll see

The smallest glimpse

Of a lightning fast

Air-drawn map

Giving directions

To everything better

Than today.

– Original-Dante ©2016

Photograph by: htpb

A Sinking Feeling.

sinking_chances_by_fenwickparrody-d36b7pq.jpg

Take the low tide for granted,

You’ll sink like granite.

– Original-Dante ©2016

Photograph by: FenwickParrody

Ingredients.

The recipe tells me

That the remedy

To relinquish my distress

Is to express.

 

– Original-Dante ©2016

Untold Chronicles (Part 3)

homeless_5_black_and_white_by_tiagotakespictures-d379dtb

Untold Chronicles (Part 1)

Untold Chronicles (Part 2)

From humble beginnings,

To living like a king

To humble endings,

My life’s story, has a solid middle

But they,

People,

Only consider what they see.

Never mind,

That at one point

I was once

One of you,

You look at me,

With eyes of disdain

As I look at you.

Pardon my liquor filled breath

But what you see

As a habitat for livestock

Is what I call home,

Funny thing though,

It moves, with me,

Wherever I please.

See,

I talk and kid with myself

To maintain my sanity,

Drowning

In rationed liquor,

I am my own company.

Scraping and scrounging

Trying to survive

In a world full of people,

Unwilling to help

What am I to them except

A speed-bump on the road?

Dying would be so simple

Easy even,

Plenty of broken glass

In my trusty trash can,

A well-placed slit

And that’s it.

But no, I choose not to

My will to live

Is not governed

Or driven by you

And your careless stares.

I’ve survived this long

Living on scraps

And my hope, for a better day

Through the belief

Of a higher existence.

I once became a king

In your world

With little to no help,

And if it happened once

It can surely happen again.

– Original-Dante ©2015

Photograph by: TiagoTakesPictures

5 Day Photo/ Story Challenge Day 1

The Chaser Of Dreams nominated me for the 5 Day Photo/ Story Challenge, its been really interesting so far. You can check out her blog here.

 

The Guidelines:

Post a picture each day for five consecutive days. Attach a story to accompany
*can be fiction / non-fiction
*poem / short paragraph
*each day nominate another blogger

Moral of the story here is that no-one is superior or inferior to anyone, we’re all equals. In turn, don’t ever assume you have nothing more to learn from those you think are not worthy of your time.

For my Day 2 nomination I choose my good friend Dorinda. You can visit her blog at Night Owl Poetry

 

Later people! 🙂

Threads Of Fate.

african_sunrise_by_spectresabre

 

Their threads

Intertwined,

Fabrics of fate

Made visually sublime.

Woven, combined

Criss-crossing,

Like a braid,

No pattern more divine,

Love set on palpable,

It is, more or less

In the simplest form,

Unbreakable.

– Original-Dante ©2015

Photograph by: SpectreSabre

Letters Yet To Be Sent.

letters_by_akinosora-d5k5mzj

 

She wonders

If I care for anyone

Besides myself

Yet,

All I write about,

Is her.

– Original-Dante ©2015

Photograph by: Alhor-Ern

Conditioning.

694859fe676ca76690e273335b2252e3-d5befr7

 

“Us” and “Them”,

A collective

Of implications

And demarcations,

What builds distinction

Besides Human condition.

– Original-Dante

Photograph by: hougaard

Befuddling Puddles.

puddles_by_nikolinelr

 

Do not be puzzled

By all the recurring puddles,

The tears in her eyes

Are nowhere close to subtle.

– Original-Dante

Photograph by: nikolinelr