Three Poems – Mojavi

Mojavi has been a part of the local poetry and spoken word scene for well over 20 years. He is the founder of Urban Guerilla Theatre and one of the original organizers of Nitty Gritty Slam. Over the years Mojavi has performed and featured all over the Capital Region as well as the Nuyorican Poets Cafe (New York City), Sugar Shack, AS220 (Providence, RI), and Mango’s (Washington D.C.).

 

Broken: Let Me Be Glue

Her jagged edges
Jutted out
Each time she reached
Through the windows
Of her eyes for love
A forgone conclusion
Her brokenness
An illusion
That only she
Felt she’d be
He would marvel
At her spine
The way it bent
but never broke
The sinew of her convictions
When left with nothing
How she still gave
Her honeyed kiss
Intense in her embrace
Her passion
Sleek
Hips that smile
Not understanding
That her kindness
Is welcome
To paupers
Who forgot
The richness of love
Not good enough
Is what their absence
Spoke to her self esteem
She would be their greatest Fantasy
or wet dream
How could they understand
The heart
that was attached
The soul  whose loving
Was unmatched
So quick to detach
They blew out her hope
Like a match
Life would steal
Her enthusiasm
Causing a chasm
To open up
Inside her beating Chest
That warned his to give up
And to expect less
He saw her Full
A puzzle to which
He had glue and piece
A way to give her fulfillment
And to give
her heart peace
The way to gather
her shards
And reshuffle the deck
of cards
To show her
that living was easy
If he loved her Hard
Displayed the Ernst
In the erstwhile
Miles upon miles
of passion
That would fashion
The pillars affection
A foundation built in stone
But warmed by heart
By which
she could call home

 

Numbers: Or How I learned to Not Count Black

Tonight. I would like to talk to you about numbers
Numbers that may be insignificant
But
Math rules everything around me
Cream get money
Dolla, Dolla , Dolla Bill y’all
I meaning 1
Who was born of two
Of which one had 7
And one gave 4 from his loins
He came from 2
Who each came from two
before them
Unlike his mom where she also came from 2
Had only 1 sibling
But her father  Was  1 of 3
Never mind me I just wanted to establish backstory
I can count me
But I can’t count the inception of Afrikans  in to the inception of this country
Enslavement
Countless numbers
Worth 800 crowns like
Old English  800
It is the power..malt liquor
That is sold primarily
In inner city hi density
Communities
No
See if these add up
1
Dylan roof
Killed 9
Said he was there to
kill black people
Cause we are raping
their woman
And stealing their jobs
as he reloaded 5 times
He will not be vilified
Like
Selling looseys
Wearing a hoodie
Playing music loudly
Or talking on the 1 phone
With 1  bb gun
Being shot multiple times
And he could not run
What is the numbers on a open carry state
like ohio
Seems like police
Kill 1 too many black men
Quick on the finger triggers
That take lives that
They don’t have to contemplate
And wait…
There does not have to be
no justification
2 officers went to go see
Eric garner
And when he said he did nothing
A  choke hold was applied
Along with him screaming
I can’t breathe 11 times
Until he expired
Or decimals
Like 1.5 seconds
But they said in the report that
He told Tamir rice
To put the gun down
4 times
He was only 12
Or how about
17
17 for
Jordan Davis
Travon Martin
18
Or 18 for
Mike brown
Wait subtract 10 months
How about 8
8 shots
For Walter Scott
And half of 8 is
4
How about 4 for
4 little girls
1963
A church bombing
And this is A church bombing
By bullets
By a 21 yo
Who went from doing
as he was told
killing 9
Arrested with out incident
Brought Burger King
Treated like gold
While he will
Eventually
Be on display
Deranged
Mentally ill
While he still killed
Reminds me of
movie Theatre’s
Sandy hook
Boston bombings
His smirk so charming
As they led him
Away in a bulletproof vest
I am but one
But gave to two
And I had three
Of which 2
Are boys
And 1 is  a girl
And how do I share that
This is their world
This place
That vilifies the victims
gives the shooters grace
What can I add what decimal
Shifted in place
That that has not already been subtracted and divided
by their
Color
What will be there sum
Trying to show
black lives matter
And this soul of the world
Grows numb
And we live beneath the thumb
And it is not adding up
And it is not adding up
And it is not adding up

 

The Djembe

It the heart of the soul of you

The drum

The sum of rhythm

and heartbeat

That touches the soul

Your soul don’t run

We the original break dancers

Backspinning

Bodies twisted

Into 16 bars

Mistaking wack emcees

As stars

When there is no relation

To the constellations

The drum is the sure bet

Sunrise  to sunset

The drum is the morning prayer

I asked that god help me to look for the perfect beat

Heart my heart in the pounding

Of a djembe

The cow bell stings my soul

Allowing my legs to dance

Dance

Dance

Dance

Play this in any hood

I dare u

To not hear

The motherland

Restrained only by

Indoctrination

No knowing your mother is calling

You

Come in

Come back

Feel the drum

At the arch of your back

Feel the thump

The dip of your hip

Know that

Rhythm is eternal

It the soul of our people

It the heart of the soul of you

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