Friday, January 18, 2008


Deep in tone.
Deep in voice.
He spoke in tongue
telling a quiet world to wake up.
African in nature,
he stepped up to me
and stared into my eyes.
Locked tight,
he focused.
He looked into my soul
and toyed with the idea of remaking me
into the image
of a man.
A man of African seasons.

From out of the tall grass
urged by the wind,
African chants,
rhythm and drums
pushed our bodies into full expression
orally conveying our tales of greatness.
With the blood of the spirit,
the sweat of the land,
and the richness in being,
our story was told for generations to see.
To dance.
To sing.
To know.

We held each others hands.
Held them high and gathered others
in our warm embrace.
The numbers grew,
from youngling to elder
it swelled in quixotic proportions.
We collected the words and wisdom of the ages.
It condensed
and rubbed together
creating heat.
It burned within me.
It burned within us all.
It was hot where we were,
At the center of the room.
The center of the world.
Much like the center of all creation,
where he made me into a man.
A man of African seasons.

African Seasons by Shazza Nakim
Copyright © by Peace of Mind Publishings and with permission by Shazza Nakim

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