Narratio is a global platform for youth empowerment through creative expression, publishing content from over 18 countries across three continents.
When I was young, my grandfather told me, “Don’t fear death.”
I never I understood my dada. I thought he was being morbid.
But now I realized what he meant.
You have your mother's eyes;
But the world is telling you
That they are not big enough
she imagines
pregnant skies
like ripe oranges
and the flames that burn
her mind,
the only place
that takes her
afar
I see snapshots of war in your eyes.
I think that maybe,
you started dreading the silence –
You hated the way it offered hope
and demanded, the last minute,
that you give it back.
Who I was,
made who I am.
Who I am,
makes who I will be,
Life is just cause and effect.
Such is the beauty of Rain: It pours a blend of emotions.
Its final message goes as such:
“Your dreams are being weaved, hold on, as I sign off, light shall creep in for a new beginning”
Walking past the African Burial grounds on Friday,
I remembered a past day.
On this remembered day, I saw the tombstone of a relative never met,
A person I could not see physically in this life, even with a bet.
I won’t be a closed door
But an open one.
And love will come
To fight for me.
I know 'tis but mighty hands that carved me,
When I look at the heavens, mountains and sea.
He who knows, has carved well,
He foresees, He sees swell.
He frames his sculpture,
No piece he fractures.
Each small hamlet within the empire was founded on a common principle first,
Then the populace become knowledgeable of other methods and created new methods with a burst.
Upon the canvas blank and white,
Lay my life, as clear as light.
For many a days, thus it lay.
I maketh my peace with this grave deal,
But my heart, thou with joy doth heal.
Each time thou soarest above my head,
That night sweet dreams I findeth in bed!
As an observer of the global stance both past, present, and future, of the history of man,
I clearly state that my identity is not singular, not unique, but plural, I am a global human.
A lonesome cow,
She walked at night,
Below the moon,
No star to light.
I have not the eye for the house and the cars,
I esteem not money a need to cherish,
But dare I say, I hate those scars,
The one’s that girls wear from relationships that perish.
But is he the fool
Or the enlightened one?
Am I an intellectual
Or am I fighting one?
As the beat of the monitor drops
and all hands come crashing down
pink drains out of masked faces
into a mother's heart
Reading and staring at the blue lit sky,
Thinking and communicating a few words without a sigh.
"Hello!" I yell in this empty room.
The sound of my voice reverberates from the walls.
