Nuestro Día
El día en que la libertad pueda quedar reflejada en los dictados de la Vida,
en el que las personas no se sientan amarradas por las raíces del pasado,
en el que el astro sol ilumine el sendero,
en el que el oscuro pasado escarmiente el futuro,
en el que un cielo azul brillante resguarde nuestros sueños,
en el que las sonrisas del destino endulcen el camino de la vida,
en el que la grandilocuente vida retruene su sonoro resplandor en el interior de cada uno.
Para saber lo que seremos, querer lo que querremos, amar lo que trasciende más allá de nuestra conciencia,
más allá incluso de las dulces y frescas sensaciones de libertad.

Ese día, será un DÍA, como aquél que nunca fue, como aquél que podrá ser, pero, eso sí, que ¡DEBERÁ PERMANECER!

Carlos Colao

Our day
The day that freedom can be reflected in Life's commandments,
in which people do not feel bounded by the roots of the past,
in which the sunshine of our supreme Star clears the burden paths,
in which the dark black side of the past removes the thorns of future,
in which the intense blue sky shelters our dreams,
in which the smiles of destiny enriches our bold life road,
in which the magic of life grandiosely plays the beat sounds of love inside each one of us.
To know what we will be, to want what we will want, to love what goes beyond our consciousness,
beyond even the sweet, fresh feeling of freedom.

That day, will be a DAY, like the one that never was, like the one that could one day be, but, yes, that it will have to REMAIN!

Carlos Colao

She walks in stride, quickly with head
Held high. The glistening, of her face
As beautiful as the black night.

Her smile, as bright as the African
Diamond. Deep into her heart, love
and compasion.

The world, will not get to know her.
She glides, along the walkway. Deep
In thoughts, of other worlds' conception of her
Beauty.

Often times, misunderstood for a fault,
The native world clamors from the ancient
Lands of her birth.

Not knowing, she wonders past. The beckoning
Of the motherland. The cry of the mother-
Land. The pride of her existence and essence.

The bearer of her fruits. The caresses of her
Soul and life.

The possessor of the peace and tranquility
Of her dreams.

Her ebony beauty, the essence of her true
World. The gift of her future. The soul of
Her existence.
The life of her spirit... The ebony tears.

Copyright (c) 1996 Paul S Hickman All Rights Reserved

They say.

Women shouldn’t express themselves that way.
There’s a correct way to disagree with people.
She shouldn’t travel there alone.
Why are you being so emotional?
What will people think?

Are you sure you should make such a big decision alone?
Who’s the man in the relationship?
Do your parents approve of your choices?
Can I speak to your husband?
What will people think?

Why are you so aggressive?
You think you’re too good for him?
Isn’t that a man’s job?
When are you going to have children?
What will people think?

Don’t leave your drink unattended.
You could stand to loose a few pounds.
You can’t talk about your sex life.
Is that what you’re wearing?
What will people think?

What will people think?

I say.

We live half lives as revivals.
Being a distraction for the masses.
So that someone else can control us.
Because we’re too concerned.
With what people would think.

We could be teammates in this battle.
Allies in the struggle for equality.
We could be friends supporting each other.
If we would choose to consider.
What we would think.

If we can stop hating each other for thinking differently.
Listen to the wisdom we’ve gathered.
And respect our individual voices.
We will be a force to be reckoned with-
Because we will create an example.
Of another way to think.

I want every little girl to know.
She was meant for something greater.
She does not have to live in anyone's shadow.
That no matter what people tell her.
Because one day she will be a woman.
And she can decide what she wants to think.

By: Alexandra Smith

Tis You – who stood like a rock
Of Granite.

Unswayed, by the constant pounding,
Of the Winds of Humanity, the Chill
Souls. And the fire of dragons.

Now, unweathering streaking into the
Deeds of tomorrow.

As we -the left behind- strive to
Place our footsteps on the soil
Left by you for us to fill in...

Copyright (c) 2018 “Tis You”, Paul S Hickman, All Rights Reserved

The naughtiness, of the voices.
Destined, not to hear, nor see.

Unknown, the different worlds,
Their world, our world, my world.

Worlds filled, with a cornucopia
Of ideas, dovetailing, towards
The thin thread.

That binds man into a common bond,
Of trust, tolerance, and compassion.

The haughtiness of the voices.

They destined, not to hear, nor see
The world...

Copyrighted (c) 1996, Paul S Hickman, All Rights Reserved

There in the land of heroes and beauty is a lady.
Who moves like a wisp of smoke.
Penetrating all barriers, emerging on the side
Of life that most fail to see.

A forbidden love that falls like a fallen leaf off a
Tree-slowly drifting through the gentle breeze.

Bonding with a plethora of others.
Lying among them with no difference in hue

As she glides effortless over them,
All towards her destiny in the mist in the quiet,
Of the evening...there she sits.

(c) 2019 “The Mist in the Quiet”, Paul S Hickman, All Right Reserved

There the fire starts, raging across the grassy seas,
Into the worlds of the lost tribes.

Gathering them up into a wind swept caress,
And hurls them back to the dusty lands,
Out of deep blue seas.

There they rest until the last days.

None shall be able to touch,
Their inner spirit.

From the top of the mountain,
Lies a vision as far as the eye can see.

No other land will prevail over this land,
As we watch from a distance.

Too far, for many, to short for a few.
As the fire rages on....

Copyright (c) 2012, “The View of the Fire”, Paul S Hickman, All Rights Reserved

Your name has lingered with craving
In the mouths of the innumerous
An affirmation for the downtrodden
A passionate desire for the adventurous
Your dignity symbolizes women’s fortitude
The pursuing man's wistful privy desires
Many have watched you from distant shores
Yearning for the promise of your name
Celebrations have dignified your presence
People flock to witness your magnificence
Your iconic symbol of independence
A beckoning torch of light
The mystique of new frontiers
Refugees fleeing from persecution
Conceiving freedom from destitution
A sacred heritage embodied
Democracy, and the pursuit of happiness,
Opportunity and equality for the seekers
An assertion that progress is inevitable
A Declaration of Independence
Conceived in your honored name
We name you Liberty.

Copyright@ All rights reserved
Camille Elaine Thomas
February 18, 2021

Alone in a room full of people, I find solace in the corner. Purposefully trying to shrink as small as possible. Wanting to be invisible but screaming to be noticed.

Alone in a room full of people, I see it all. The head turns, tone changes, the hair flips, the side glances, the crossed arms.

Alone in a room full of people, I ask myself are they doing that because of me. Are those about me. Am I small enough. Do they see I'm trying to be smaller.

Alone in a room full of people, I feel everything. The stares, the tension, the energies moving around creating waves of passion and lulls of stifling despair.

Alone in a room full of people, I know everything. They all hate me, was it something I said, was it something I ate, did I sit in the wrong place. Am I not shrinking small enough.

Alone in a room full of people, I find no solace, no respite. Just harsh thoughts rooted in painful memories of failed attempts to shine.

Alone in a room full of people...

By: Alexandra Smith

When we were created
We were told that we were meant for something great.
We were told we were created for a purpose
And that purpose would find us.
Because that purpose was
us.

That we would one day understand what we were created for
it was inside us.
They imparted their knowledge to us;
I absorbed it.
I thought I was their best student…

They trained us to lead; I tried to take the reins from them.
They threatened to leave me,
I gave them back….
They trained us to believe in ourselves; I set ambitious goals.
But they told me I was being unrealistic,
I limited myself…

They trained us to ask questions, I questioned them.
But they embarrassed me,
I stop talking…
They trained us to behave properly; I held my head high.
But they told me I was putting on airs,
I lowered my standards…

They trained us to listen; I listened to my heart.
But they told me it was wrong,
I doubted myself…
They trained us to think for ourselves; I thought differently than them.
But they rebuked me.
I stop thinking…

They trained us to be individuals; I tried to replicate them.
They praised me…
I sat up straight!
They trained us to go draw our own conclusions; I waited for them to tell me what to draw.
They drew it for me;
I understood…

When we were copied
We were told that we were meant for something great.
We were told we were copied for a purpose
And that purpose would find us.
Because that purpose was
us.

By: Alexandra Smith