THE AGONY

Introduction

Introduction:

There are some truths I didn’t know how to speak for decades. Even now, I approach them with reverence and a bit of fear. They are too sharp for easy telling. Too close to the bone for polite memoir. But somewhere between memory and poetry, I found a voice that could say what my boy-self could not. This poem isn’t crafted for comfort. It’s a reckoning. A scar turned inside-out. It’s the echo of silence, the howl unheard.

Furies fueled by solitude

monsters and ravings, unrestrained,

as the merciless eyes of dolls and cool-cats

watched a little black pilgrim

whose fervors drove him mad.

Mutilating memories,

unfinished stories;

the pain of a little boy spurned,

as the shame of his brown skin burned.

Soundless screams for the absence of caring.

The agony, the agony.

Boundless dreams of a goddess to save him.

The agony, the agony, the agony.

.

From japes and immature jollity

to dark, nightmarish imagery;

a cartoon existence of remorseless reality.

Blindfolded partners, books of wonder

devoured whole, like starving thunder.

Still lacerating memories,

unfinished stories;

the pain of a helpless child,

the pain of his self reviled.

.

The world heard not the chaos

at the hub of his mentality.

In the black yard of humiliation,

degradation and atrocities.

So deep is the sleep of experience

where the monsters were produced;

the flowering of rage

in the white man’s house.

.

Soundless screams for an absent mother

The agony, the agony.

Boundless dreams for something other

than the agony,

the agony,

the agony.

and the silence it demands.

.

.

AGONY

Furies fuelled by solitary feelings.
Terrors, monsters, horrifying ravings
as the merciless eyes of dolls and cool-cats
watched a little black pilgrim
whose fervours drove him mad.

Mutilating memories,
unfinished stories;
the pain of a little boy spurned
as the shame of his brown skin burned.

Soundless screams for the absence of caring
The agony, the agony.
Boundless dreams of a goddess to save him.
The agony, the agony, the agony.

From japes and immature jollity
to dark nightmarish imagery;
a cartoon existence of remorseless reality.

Blindfolded partners, books of wonders
devoured whole, just as one does…

…Still lacerating memories,
unfinished stories;
the pain of a helpless child,
the pain of his self reviled.

The world heard not the chaos
at the hub of his mentality.
In the black yard of humiliation,
degradation and atrocities.
So deep is the sleep of experience
where the monsters were produced;
The flowering of rage
in the white man’s house.

Soundless screams for an absent mother
The agony, the agony.
Boundless dreams for something other
than the agony,
the agony,
the agony.