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THE SUN CHILD.

[Amsterdam, 2015]


I.

I swayed –
The grime bellowed out from my core

Green eyes;
Dirty green palms
Bitter like ginger
Gnawed at my taste

I was tied to this pole
With gold –
Twenty four karat shining beaming
Handcuffs

Twenty four hours
Staring wishing screaming
GOLD

Rope laced round my neck
Laced round my ankle
Laced round

Dirty green palms
Gnawed at gold
Rope
Staring wishing screaming

The grime bellowed out from my core
Handcuffed these dirty green palms

And tethered
This neck
With
Gold







III.

a.
Plush pink lips
Passed down the sweet hissing
In my left earlobe

Vibrations plucked
And my chest expanded
Around the world

I was at the edge of
Broken pines
And soft angels
With an electric pay phone

Gentle taps patted
Cocoa hues

Numbness teasing with explosion

And I sat

In the
Throne


b.
Pines broken
Teasing numbness

I was at the edge of
The world
With an electric pay phone –

Cocoa hues
Passed down the sweet hissing
Of plucked vibrations

Soft angels expanded my chest
The throne exploded

Gentle taps
Patted plush pink lips

Left in my
Earlobe







VI.

Lately it was harder for her to move from bed to room, room to world.

She had been up late talking – hours on the phone running in circles from “I love you” to dead silence... dead silence that led to crying – empty dead silence.

The broken clock ticked obnoxiously, a reminder that time was passing, life was moving, and yet she remained in bed. Not asleep or awake, but rather somewhere in between. 

Outside distant pops echoed in the distance; they felt like violence. 

Some nights she could rise slowly to sneak down creaky steps, find herself hidden on the back porch. A glass pipe filled with green spells as she fell into a daze that lifted her to memories. 

She would hum here – old jazz standards or his lullaby. Slipping into old tunes while smoke drifted forward then disappeared into the atmosphere.







VIII.

Last night I dreamt
In Black

And when I woke the world was shaking

There was no sun
For four days
And I could not speak
I could not move

Last night I woke
In a puddle of nails
Drenched with pain
Gasping for you

Woken by death
And its fair warning

When I dream in Black
It wraps me round
And when I wake
My ground is
Shaking

When I wake my palms are
Shaking

When I wake my time is
Shaking

And there is no one

They advise against
Returning home

But my safety is never certain

So if I die before the New Year comes
I will die in Black dreams

In my father’s eyes
I will die in the world
Shaking







IX.

By the time I was lost in dance
The sun came out

When I left your home it was misting
Clouds hanging in my ears

But by the time I was lost
The sun came out

My body was your vessel
Collected from our spilled mass

And I was
Dancing

Lost in this sun
Lost in this dirt –
Lost in your hands

I shook as you shifted
In my Black body of Gold
And you beckoned for my gleaming

While I was lost in dance
Lost in my dreams

And the sun was hot

Kneading my skin like God’s palms
Too warm for touch

And elusive to your tongue

I was shaking to my son
Shaking the beat of
Our past

And the sun was blazing

Blazing so warm
I was roasting
Too much heat
On my thick leather back
And so I kneeled

Closed my eyes to find
Peace

Closed my eyes to find
Life

My eyes were closed so tight

I could finally see
Blackness

Kneeling in motion
To the West

Kneeling in
My womb
Of truth

Kneeling in dreams

By the time I was lost in dance
Your bullets did not phase me

My spine lengthened, 
Body spread wide
And I was bullet proof

Swinging through fire
Saluting my sun
And lost in a dream of
Black Gold

Your bullets could not phase me
For I was lost in Dance

Lost in Dance with the son at my back
And your fire
Just a flicker of madness
In the distance

Poking at my hip, perhaps,
But I was lost in Dance

And that metal did not phase me

Your bullets did not phase me
Your fear did not phase me

You did not phase me

For I was lost in Dance
And dreams

And you were

Lost
In
Hatred

That bullet slid past
Woven skin

Brothers and Sisters sewn
Into the Black Mass of Gold

A Black Mass that is not destroyed
A Black Mass that breathes –
O’ Brilliant Black Mass.

To you
We were bleeding

But you had been
Blind
For centuries

Trying fruitlessly
To remove a Sun
That lies within
Keep losing me,
Oh I pray

For I will be lost in
Dreams and Dance

And our Son will Come


 





Ima Diawara, 2021
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