In what whatever

You see the Cosmopolitan of this order of life is only controlled by the essence of you.
Happiness was a state of mind I used to guess.
But now with this order of confusion
It turns into something of an ordinary thing

It May not make much since now
But the flowers of April has the rain coming down
In the way of it all you see
For they know that there is some kind of love

Love of humanity
Love of peace
Love of nature
Love of character

The character of heart
The character of love
It's the feeling of the world
In this utopia of selflessness

The mistress of music
Is full of beauty
What doesn't make it
Can just fall away into the way

Sitting where the cold exists

As I sit here there is freezing rain,
I can no longer think of the positives of warmth
I try to think about that thing that helps me
But alas, it is no longer here

Love brought the way of the thing
For I saw her last night, and she inspired me
So when I think about her face, it brings me into a light of passion
The heat is here with her, even with all my luck running in

The looseness of losing that precious thing of hers,
She stands cool and collected like a Miles Davis
Only when that person yells at her does she feel irate
Why does it feel so intense

Her beauty is something that a man see's
When he forget's about himself
She's brings that sweetness and love
With her smile and her precious aura

Yes indeed I am inspired by you
Marie N is all about the swiftness of cool

You sang a song with a sunday kind of love
How that makes your voice so sultry
Doing a duet with you makes life a pleasure
For your heart is pure with honey

For the friend that I love
Is just so much, too much sweet,
She will swing that jazz all around
For that voice is beautiful of love

I could go on and on about you
But just seeing your face reminds me of who I am
I don't know how, but it does
Takes away my chillness of a heart and warma it up into the sun.



Dedicated to the heart of K.M.N

Damn Beautiful Lady: Fine as Day

Tonight was a night in which I met her. I mean when I first saw her I knew. Didn't know how or didn't know when, but I did know that I had to talk to her. When I finally did, I knew, she knew it was all good. She had tall silky legs with a body to match. Damn I was there ready to be emerged in her. She was a smooth lady who seemed like she could drip for hours. This lady here in question that I speak of is so oh, so oh,damn, damn, damn. As I go into the club I see her again. What should I do? When should I spin. The wheel is going around in my mind. Trying to get the strength to pick up my ass and go to her. I dreamt of this woman one time ago. This beautiful black woman, this time right here. I think of nothing but the pureness of her lips pressing up against mine. So full, so sweet, so damn, damn, damn!

The Paint Box by Tali Shurek, Age 13, Beer Sheva

I didn't write this but i like this poem


The Paint-Box

I had a paint-box
Each color glowing with delight;
I had a paint-box with colors
Warm and cool and bright.
I had no red for wounds and blood,
I had no black for an orphaned child,
I had no white for the face of the dead.
I had no yellow for the burning sands.
I had orange for joy and life,
I had green for buds and blooms,
I had blue for clear bright skies.
I had pink for dreams and rest.
I sat down
and painted
Peace


Tali Shurek, Age 13, Beer Sheva

Someday has come

Hello
My name is Saalik.
I have a few things that I would like to say.
I am not a Nigger nor a Negro
Nor a color from the box.
I am a man.
I am a man that wants respect.
I am a man that gives respect at all times
This day I want to tell you
That no more will I except
Your disrespect, your intolerance and your injustice
From now on you will call me by my name.
I will not be called a boy.
I will not be called a nigger.
Everyone thinks that I’m a boy.
Everyone thinks that they know me.

I tell you here now that only God knows me
Why must you disrespect my family
Why must you disrespect my sista’s
It’s true that I myself haven’t paid attention
To what’s beenreally going on in the world.
But now, some monster has awoken me
To see the real life light.

Life – Light huh!
Well let me tell you something
Just because I don’t speak ebonics
Doesn’t mean I’m not black.
Just because I like the whole rainbow of women.
Doesn’t mean I’m not black!

What is it about all this shit and racism
That people have in their bodies.

It’s a demon!

Whoa I don’t get it. Whatever man.

When you hold your head up high
Why do people think you look down to them.

You’re not looking down it just seems that way.
It’s like the Matrix man. It’s cool and I don’t know.

I mean when you love yourself what does that mean?
It’s an interpretation of a masturbation of the hipness.

Hip is cool
I go to school
I want to learn
Not be a fool

There’s just not enough!

The Way

Love is just a doorway away.
When you wake up and see
You’ll find true love.
And it will be a brand new day.
For you see that love is the key to all
Human Nature.

Beauty

Your beauty is breath taking in the eyes of men.
When I look into your eyes I am Lost in a field of passion.
The passion of your heart speaks volumes of rhythm.
The rhythm is swinging with that funkness of soul.
Your soul is a spirit unknown to them.
Them that are men who knows of no beauty.
Beauty and peace is a quietness of your aura.
The aura that speaks of peace and nature.

Saalik Ahmad Ziyad
May 19, 2005

Lonely womnan 

Bitterness

Am I a bitter man?

What would I be bitter for?

For being young sometimes fails to understand.

The way it is with life and the way it is with me.

I feel no love from up above.

Yet deep in my consicousness I know she does.

Does what I say with love today?

Go away, go away, unless you can pay

I've paid with my heart and with my soul.

The music that I felt is no longer in control.

Of my life and my passion

Maybe I will find some fashion

In this small little thing

In this small but yet big little world.

Which exsists beyond

With my heart attached

On my shoulder it once sat

Till it got crushed with the fact

Of love and it's exsistence

Is merely an act of torture

Not tortue of my soul

But torture of the kindred

Spirit unknown to me

In the midst of this angst

Must I, Shall I, will I

Ever love again?

Was I ever really in this love

of hypnotic torture?

This bird has taken my hurt and soul

Away with it. Away with her.

For I am a writer of immense porpotions.

Is that not the word to describe distortion.

For I always do, pick the wrong shoe.

Only from inside will I ever know the truth