a flame in my (i) /
hunger in my soul /
money on my mind /
fill my empty bowl /
some say what bums say/
i never relay what you say
busy doing something else
unless you talking payment
take the B.S. somewhere
OTHER THAN … CONFIDENCE
INTELLIGENCE, CONQUER
w.i.T.
-RAL
As Jibril approaches a divine young lady accessorized in jewels that must have been gathered at the bottom of the Nile, his smooth stroll is stalled by a crack in the concrete. He doesn’t fall. She chuckles. “You didn’t just see that,” he says. “See what? Nah, I didn’t just see about bust your lip on the pavement,” she coyly responds. “Anyway… so, it’s safe to say that you’re concerned about my lips? When can mine meet yours?” he throws the bait. “Oh nah, this ain’t gon’ work. You’re too forward for me. This meeting is adjourned. Deuces.” Jibril reaches for her wrist, and spins her back around to him. “Getcha hands offa me, you crust sucka!” she demands. “My bad, can we start over? My name is Jibril and it’s been forever since I’ve seen a fine dime like you around. Every girl I meet nowadays is so basic,” he says. “So what? That ain’t got nothing to do with me. Maybe if you learned how to speak to a woman your luck would improve.”
“You know that song, “You Are Everything” by that R&B group in the 90s? The secret is that I wrote that song for you. We were meant to meet,” he says. “That’s weak, brotha.” “I’m not your brother, but I’m sure your mother would approve of me. Give me a shot, give me a chance I won’t blow it. I can help you shine, come be mine at least for one night.” There is a beat… Next, a moment. She seems interested.
“What’s your name?”
“No.”
“It’s nice to meet you, No. What language is that?
“You ain’t getting none.”
“I’ve never heard of that language, but it’s cool. We can work it out like Algebra.”
“Jeez!”
“I’m new in this town and I need a little help finding my way around. Would you be willing to help me out a bit? I apologize for how I stepped to you earlier. I was ner-“
She cuts him off, “Didn’t your mother or your father teach you how to talk to a lady? I’m not the one that’s going to teach you. Catch up!” Jibril sees that she’s a tough one, but he is persistent, “What’s your number?”
“I don’t have a phone.”
“Yeah, right.”
“Even if I did, I sure as heaven wouldn’t give it to you.”
“I know you’re not always this tense and stuck up. Where’d you go to school, Howard or something?”
“I went to Spelman where we keep it 100% all day. You ain’t making no progress with me, clown.”
Jibril begins to walk off, when, “You’re gonna give up that easy?”…
-R.A.L.
the beginning was devoid of sense, no bank
no rhyme or reason for discrepancy
heart beat pounding through laminate loose leafs
on the brink, innovation felt sincerely
songs of doves evolved to songs of warriors
thugs chose to put down their guns, fight for HER
broke the rules, stitched together raw truth
nobody wishes to grow old alone
turned away from rage while on the run
noticed a shift in the atmosphere
that night it appeared it rained tears
page caught them for an ill pen born anew
carry fresh flow a boulder became a pebble
projected from shoulder for hydroplaning
-R. A. L.
Talk about a drought
Scrambling for scrilla
Packages get intercepted
Fiends scratchin’ at the door
No supply for their fix
Hand one a poem
She chews it up
Spits it out
Say it tastes salacious
Belly craves substance
Hand another a song
Heads on hip-hop
By the bridge
Makes a get away
Don’t give chase
Told ‘em it was free
Hand it to a DJ
Week later, found
Disc by a gutter
Lady rubs on shoulders
Rougher than boulders
Whispers in ear
Her words are cantaloupe
Bring the rent next week
Or y’as on the streets
Tongue tastes of lemons
Now I’m living off remnants
Scrapping for dividends…
-K
Jibril is a young wise man who early on figured out the ins and outs of life. Whatever the subject - be it mathematics, philosophy, statecraft, spirituality, art, or matters of the heart; ask him any question or for guidance and he can give you fair and logical counsel. All in all, most people respect him. Elders in his community often remark on how giving and mature his soul is. This all changed when things began to go sour with his girlfriend. It was she who opened his heart and expanded the reaches of his mind. Her name is Tya, and everything about her is marked with class. Even when she would be provoked by girls in her neighborhood who disliked her for whatever reason, she handled her conflicts with grace. The phrase, “Floats like a butterfly stings like a bee” was surely wrongly attributed to the Brother Muhammad Ali. Tya was a force of her own that even Jibril’s grasp of the metaphysical and quantum could not maintain.
One day Tya’s love ran thin. Old Miss Elisha - the widowed, nosy, perpetually eavesdropping old lady who always seemed to be wherever drama was present - said she overheard the altercation from her parked Cadillac outside of the grocery store where Jibril could often be spotted reading and holding counsel with people around the way:
Tya had stopped by the store to pick up some pasta and wine that she was preparing for the two of them to eat later. Upon leaving, she saw Jibril, who was wearing the khufi she despised (because she always thought his “Muslim look” was some facade) and talking to a “stacked” young lady named Tisha. “Ya’ see, girl… It was written in the stars that the moon would align with this constellation (pointing up into the early-evening sky) to mark the magnificence of Allah. Mark these words, time will reveal.” Tya, seeing and overhearing this stomps over to Jibril and burst the wine on the concrete by his feet, “Time has revealed that you are a pretentious sucka with a skewed perspective of what this world is all about. It ain’t about this knowledge you think you have, nor your ego, nor this stupid khufi you have on.” She snatches his khufi off his head and throws it on the ground where a puddle of wine has formed.
Jibril follows her, confused, trying to figure out what has upset Tya, “Whoa! What’s this about? Should I get you some flowers? Read you a poem? Show you this sculpture I molded for you? Let you hear this rap I wrote for you? Reveal to you this movie I made dedicated to you? This painting I painted for you? Tya-Tya-Tya! What can I do?”
Tya looks at him with a look of disgust, disappointment, and annoyance. “One day you’ll learn. It’s best if I not even say, because you’re so full of yourself that you’ll never get it if I continue to waste my time.”
“Yeah, and she just walked off while taking off the necklace, ring, and earrings Jibril bought for her, leaving him with a broken bottle of Moscato soaking his jeans,” said Old Miss Elisha.
-K
I have always loved strong women
Revolutionary afro to the relaxed
Throwing up black fists
Brunettes taking after Minerva
Wisdom calls - speech drawls
Hair wipes my face
Boriquan & Brazilian onions
Topped in linen dresses
Emancipate a single tear
Red bindi over third eye
Guyanese may be my favorite
Or Eritrean arabesque
Whose beauty is mystery to me
What really gets me
Is a sense of style
Disarming smiles
The ill profile silhouetted
Makes me question
Who is Sarah Bartmaan?
-K
On nights like tonight
I am thankful
That Jazz was created
That souls took time
To perfect their crafts
For masses to lose
Themselves in sounds
Bouncing, echoing, colliding
Space and color
Spicing our lives
With the shape
Of spiritual existence
-K
Enough gusto to bring back
The whop - move with a bop
How much he loves hip-hop
Funky haircuts nod to vibes
Inspired by blues and jazz
Rhythm to go twelve rounds
Finesse untouched by lightning
Blows from heavyweight gloves
Is it patience or confidence
To endure perilous wait
Learn everyday in
Beautiful struggle
How he maintains integrity
When he could’ve been broken
Some say his soul is digital
Others say abstract
Analog, cassette tapes
A record that won’t scratch
-K
Psychos get analyzed
Character profile decoded
By who & to what end
Are they capable of harm
To others, to themselves
What change do they want
To see - Ghandi
Was no psycho
Departed with a burner
Flaming his Zen brain
Wisdom exhausted
For the greater good
It seems…
Safe to say
There are opposers &
posers posin’ with peace
-K
Is all in how
You carry gravity
On your shoulders
The cadence in which
You release truth
Love & essence
Of existence
Fragrance - you dance
Shake it off
Courage you mustered
Among beef b/w mustard
Lettuce in the paper chase
Points earned in the race
For life before
Burning out into an urn
Weigh pursuit to a feather
-K
