How often do we reflect on what’s real
How often do we question our eyes
And interrogate our ears
How often do we succumb to the fear
Of standing out
Because of how we see things
How often is frustration
Really our souls holding us accountable
And our inability to deal with the fact
That we lash out at others
Because of something we lack
Talking bad about Tyrone
But the question remains
Why were ya’ll kicking it so hard
And what about you, has made him
Someone you can easily discard
…After all these years?
How has the materiality of distance of time
Affected our relationship with the divine
Why does Home seem so far
When it’s closer to us than our bones
Why do we reach for the bottle
Instead of the Word to get our jones
What happened to the realism of mysticism?
And why is Rumi the only poet I can feel
Why do people try to have enlightened discussions
About race by trying to amend racial logic
Instead of trying to transcend
Seeking pats on the back for calling our President half-Black
When the one-drop rule is at the core of the “logic”
What are you saying?
What games are you playing
I guess in the end, it can’t be helped
But forgive me if I struggle to hold in my laugh
When I see through your glass
And find a purple heart easily bruised
But seeking to be a titan
Mouth-watering, but I detach
Like a vegetarian lion
