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letra de castaway - aja monet

i did not want to write a poem full of corpses
so, i wrote a sacred pink-blue sky jeweled on the horizon
laughter as the loudest star sleeps
humor hugs every ake hole
how heavy heads lay after a long day in the humid heat
caribbean moon-size and joyous dream
i did not wish to speak of what should not be spoken
so silence breathe into all the words
a haunting
i come from a language that does not write itself
our ancestors speak hurricane
a thunder tongue shivering tieds and a pity revenge
the mid-atlantic is a vext anti-raddling rivers and rules
ready for reckoning knocking at the chest of men
on the other side, on the other side of now there is a door where we return
every island is a hip-swaying between here and there
a float in the dance to belong, rocking in the arms of the edge
where the sea is an emerald flag and palm trees praise the air
every shore is an altar of remembrance and braced on purpose peak knee of the sun rain
where prayer trembles the light, or house storm retreat
we marvel and move eternal unford and unlost
hips hallowing, elbows flapping like fanning flames bare feet chained in the sand or in a concrete jungle
love taps quick the neath of the earth nack where daughters of diaspora dream
and inherent journeys of flesh
where a smile is also a scar
or how my grandfather came to see about us years after he died wearing my uncle’s face
dimpled in shining eyes like two wet black beans baptized by a spirit
rhum slapped on his breath
charming man and all he was checking on his grand-babies
fear not death
fear not death, we visit kin folk there
lingering in the blood where the ocean harms tribe of the great abyss and not knowing from where or what we come and still
to arrive before they could conquer us
we came by shipwreck, by wind and wave pushed into the water splashing and waking the wound
the wound teaches us to remember where tomorrow glows
listen
listen to the animal crying within
a rooster caused directions between this world and the next
there are roads that cannot be mat
and there are streets that do not have names
we ran, we ran, we ran away into the awkward tinted mountains
seeking maroon heals
i was born borderless
mounting a dollar van like an horcious scribbling visions on a train or in an airport traveling
ritual voice and time
i was born of distance
in between now and then

- aja monet

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