White Noise

an American existence-Part I

Gliding through the halls of peculiar caricatures,
I see my oneness envelop my openness
On patchy dry wall and busy streets,
I am hardly a nuisance to unsuspecting eyes
The shades of blue-green fill me in a magenta void
All on my own, curious and insecure,
cautious but winded, I trace along the patchwork,
of quilts my ancestors passed onto me
my inquisitive nature was not to be sewn in
Much to their dismay, I weave it in each night myself,
It is the only way to keep from benign allegiance,
or worse, eternal compliance

Like the silence of my grandmother’s tearful prayers in Arabic,
The promise-land we came into has all but swallowed
the magic beans we purchased from the round faced man
with the pocket square
Equipped with the bleeding stamp in his right palm,
he sealed my fate as an innocent bystander, a seemingly free
child soon to be the casualty of a deafening world
full of uncertainty and frivolous objectives
My hope for a new beginning,
a new story, would soon be interrupted by the trajectory of
those with pursed lips and nostalgic albeit, misguided agendas

And so the paradigms of old empires taste rather bittersweet these days
Etching on a legal pad by day,
I transition into a diarist by candlelight each evening,
a prelude to the inquisitive, intentional woman that will arise at dawn

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