Featured Poem:
Because I am nothing you can name
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Featured Poem:
Because I am nothing you can name
“…I still do not exist because the ‘me’ that they see is one they have
constructed without my participation…”
Larry Olomoofe, Visible Invisibility: Deconstructing the Hungarian Gaze
You despise me
before you know me,
recreate me as something of your own,
and don’t stop to ask me.
I don’t think, therefore
I’m some thing you can toy with.
I’m nothing, to be made some thing,
useful for you to examine, fill, classify.
You assume I am yours for the taking,
presume I was just waiting for you,
to make me mean something.
Because I’m nothing you can name
I become nothing,
expire when you leave the scene,
a shadow cast from your light.
I’m nowhere, the edge of terra incognita.
I’m nothing, the unknown incarnate.
I’m nothing, your antithesis, your anti-Christ.
The chimera on the edge of your map,
something to be tamed, domesticated
and you call me Samboo.
Because I’m nothing you can name
I scare you. You war against me,
decide I cannot live
As I lie down I slowly fade,
pine and expire, defaced and denied,
saddened and alone in your world.
Because I’m nothing you can name,
I repeat my own names to myself –
Ibn Bilal Mamadu Abdul Rahman –
over and over, out loud. I let them sing in my ears,
bounce off the perimeters of my confinement,
define me, Fulani, beyond your stares,
anchor me in the quicksand of my memory,
call up echoes of home-voices sounding
my true-true names, with love.
Because I’m nothing you can name,
I falter in my eyes. I peer at my reflection
at the quayside wondering
if my mother will recognize me?
Am I still my father’s son?
Are my grandfathers ghosts?
Am I still alive at home?
Because I’m nothing you can name,
I no longer speak, my words senseless,
and you hear nothing. I swallow myself
whole, haunting my insides.
I look for a way out.
I am not brave, I do not offer resistance;
I am not wise, I have no answers and questions disappear.
Because I’m nothing you can name,
I am not.
“…I still do not exist because the ‘me’ that they see is one they have
constructed without my participation…”
Larry Olomoofe, Visible Invisibility: Deconstructing the Hungarian Gaze
You despise me
before you know me,
recreate me as something of your own,
and don’t stop to ask me.
I don’t think, therefore
I’m some thing you can toy with.
I’m nothing, to be made some thing,
useful for you to examine, fill, classify.
You assume I am yours for the taking,
presume I was just waiting for you,
to make me mean something.
Because I’m nothing you can name
I become nothing,
expire when you leave the scene,
a shadow cast from your light.
I’m nowhere, the edge of terra incognita.
I’m nothing, the unknown incarnate.
I’m nothing, your antithesis, your anti-Christ.
The chimera on the edge of your map,
something to be tamed, domesticated
and you call me Samboo.
Because I’m nothing you can name
I scare you. You war against me,
decide I cannot live
As I lie down I slowly fade,
pine and expire, defaced and denied,
saddened and alone in your world.
Because I’m nothing you can name,
I repeat my own names to myself –
Ibn Bilal Mamadu Abdul Rahman –
over and over, out loud. I let them sing in my ears,
bounce off the perimeters of my confinement,
define me, Fulani, beyond your stares,
anchor me in the quicksand of my memory,
call up echoes of home-voices sounding
my true-true names, with love.
Because I’m nothing you can name,
I falter in my eyes. I peer at my reflection
at the quayside wondering
if my mother will recognize me?
Am I still my father’s son?
Are my grandfathers ghosts?
Am I still alive at home?
Because I’m nothing you can name,
I no longer speak, my words senseless,
and you hear nothing. I swallow myself
whole, haunting my insides.
I look for a way out.
I am not brave, I do not offer resistance;
I am not wise, I have no answers and questions disappear.
Because I’m nothing you can name,
I am not.
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