Aminata's Refrain.

If a Marula tree falls in the woods, and no one is around; does it even make a sound?

What about when a warrior queen wails for the infant son who's been ripped right out of her shaking arms?

Does anybody hear it? Even if their tattoo tears concealed it, I know their eyes still had to see it.

Mother Africa wept silently through all those strife-filled years, her only solace lie in knowing that her stoic sun was near.

Blazing high up in the sky or beating against the scorching dirt, he wanted their invading feet to burn, just like their crackling whip that hurt.

As the neutral Earth tones blushed, imprinted by innocent blood, a permanent stain remained to ensure their names would not be washed away by monsoon rains.

Being sold out by neighbouring tribes hurt more than these pale faces whom they'd never seen before upon their shores. 

Was it even worth the reward of being the last prisoner whose head banged against the wooden floor?

Thrown into the stomach of a sardonic ghost ship, with the same siblings they had just helped the enemy enslave. 

Instantly swallowed alive by all the hateful eyes that questioned why they'd danced with these devils anyway.

And so it had begun, the beginning of humanity's end; when our brothers became animals to the very monsters who stopped seeing them as men.

Down here it was pitch dark and silent, just like the jungle, late at night; their vision struggled to make sense of whether they'd died or were somehow still alive.

The foul stench of rotten flesh filled the fetid air; whispered prayers shouted loudly for a creator who was neither here nor there.

As the rocking beast screeched to a sudden halt, sunlight peeked through cracks in its rotting walls. 

Perhaps their saviour had heard their cries after all? Maybe justice would be served and this evil would be stalled?

And so, these beautiful souls believed their torture was over and done.

My heart still aches to know their captors
were just starting to have their fun.

Shackled like chattel, and less worthless than cattle—they were poked and prodded by demons who believed they were far from godless heathens.

Wade in the water, children, we shall overcome, but not until we rise up against the poison in their souls.

Your acidic heart of insecurities could never break my spirit, it can only break my bones.

Just you wait and see what my maker has in store for me—you'll only know my agony when you're the one in chains, and I'm the one who's free.

Partition.

When fame and fortune are achieved, and there is not much left to do, 
that is when I search within for an answer or a cure.
Caught up in society's rules of what, how, and the who, 
I orbit into obscurity, then free fall into an open sewer. 

I am successful at most endeavours that I set my mind to—
whether it's racketball or the creative arts, I often take the lead. 
So I sit and seethe then make believe I am a witches brew, 
right before I prick my finger, and I let it bleed.

Excelling at almost everything can be a blessing and a cancerous curse, 
as choosing one simple path can become quite complex. 
So, instead, I obsess and move forward, in reverse; 
I stray further from my purpose, and grow painfully perplexed.

Robbed of my own livelihood like a runaway, derailing train;
despite a dozen different modes of transportation, I still cannot be moved.
My success vanished as mysteriously as a Malaysian aeroplane;
Stubborn as a mule as I wreak havoc with my cloven hooves.

Urdu:
Hum pe yeh kisne hara rang daala,
dekhao mujhe apna dil saaf hai ke kaala. 
Yeh gham ki goli hai kisne khilayee
hai kisne mujhe buri nazar lagayee.

Shayad hai maine kisi jinn ko sataya,
mot ko kisne pukara, ussey kisne bulaya?
Zindagi humari kaise itni kharaab hogayee, 
bachpan ke khilono ki tara, khushiyan humaari kahan khogayee? 

Kya kisi jadugarni ne humaari loee ki guriya banaali;
ya kisi ajnabi ko hai di humne gaali? 
Zara sa jhoom loon ya apne aap ko dufnaloon? 
Samundar mein doob jaon ya paani meh nahaaloon?

Tofa ho ya toofaan mujhe koi faraq nahin, 
ab fiqar main apni doob ke main thakgaya hoon. 
Woh masoom larka kahaan goom hogaya,
jiske aankhein mein kabhi nahin they yeh aansoo.

Punjabi:
Jiddaun dil vich dard hovey, 
teri avaaz menu chen devey;
na haath jaane, na roo jaane 
kidda rassi vangoo vataya gaya. 

Jadoo da chola paakey, 
menu hasna sekha;
meray zakhmaan de uthay 
pyaar da maram la.

Mi vich nachda phirda si pehlon
hun chand de totey bhi chen na devan,
sooraj di garmi hun sukoon na devey,
dil vich apne pana menu dehday.

Menu ma di yaad sataandi aa,
kanna vich avaaz audhi aandi aa.
Audhi ankhan vich taarey chamakde si,
Audhe paaran vich phul mehekde si.

Urdu Translation:
Who gave me this envy, show me your heart, is it clean or black with dirt, who fed me this pill of sorrow, who gave me the evil eye

Maybe I annoyed some sleeping genie, who mentioned death, who even called him? How did my life get so messed up, like my childhood toys, where has my happiness also been lost?

Did an enchantress make a voodoo doll in my likeness, or did I offend some stranger? Should I spin (roll with it) or bury myself? Bathe myself in water or drown myself in the sea.

There is no difference between gifts or gales to me, I've tired of acknowledging/observing my worry/frustrations. Where has that innocent young boy gone, whose eyes never held these tears.

Punjabi:
When there's hurt in my heart, your voice brings me peace, neither my hands nor my soul know how my life got tangled like rope. 

Teach me how to smile/laugh with your magic, heal my wounds with your love.

I once danced in the rain, now even pieces of the moon don't bring me peace, the sun's heat/rays don't bring me solace, so grant me sanctuary inside your heart.

My mother's memories haunt me, in my ears, I hear her voice; stars once glistened in her eyes, I found flowers at her feet.

Silenzia.

Find me where the cacophony of sounds meets deafening silence, where pin drops seem to echo, and whispers blare like air raid sirens. Out, past all this plastic noise pollution, is an escape where our bodies do all of the talking.
I am loudest in the pregnant expectation of audiences awaiting an orchestra's first notes, search for me along the surface of the unbeaten drum. Slide your fingers on the coastal cities of my parchment skin, sometimes I even hide between guitar strings that have yet to be plucked.
Where aria meets melody, and where bass tickles the rhythm, you will notice me dancing between the lines, like a dervish, whirling, intoxicated.
I am in the sighs, and the frustration—every exhalation between lovers in a spat. There is much of me in their reconciling, and in the fire that rekindles their romance.
Listen closely and you will hear me in the throats of birds, I am there in the few moments of silence before they crow and wake the world. I feel most serene when I am tranquil, and more radiant than the rising sun.
At the bottom of the ocean, where it is pitch dark and eerie quiet; hear me harmonize with humpback whales, whose songs below the surface interrupt the intimidating underwater silence.
As society slides further away from stillness, hush your mind and listen to your heart; if you seek then you will find me, at the nape of light and dark.

Aurat.

Woman brought us to the Earth,
but man will take us out;
ruled by ego and insecurities, 
he shoots before he shouts.
The fourth world war will be fought
with sticks and stones, like in the past:
for the third will annihilate our home,
with one single blast.
If women ruled today, 
we would still have our humanity,
instead of this endless rage, 
that is often coupled with
unadulterated insanity.

Age of Aquarius.

You signed your name in invisible ink upon my stony, restless heart; where others failed to leave an impression, you left an eternal mark. I was intrigued by you from our first chance meeting, even though you loathed me from the very start. Now, I remain indebted to you, for illuminating my path through the dark.

If you weren’t here; what would I have done? If you weren’t near; who'd I have become? Without you, dear; my life is a gun. Without you, I fear, my sorrow would've won.

At eight years young, when Sam excitedly introduced our families, I tried to impress you with Street Fighter, but to my chagrin, you had no time for silly games. Soon, I'd find excuses to visit your home, to catch sight of the unicorn, but even then, you were too cool for me. While I engaged in foolishness, your wisdom still surpassed my child's play.

If you weren’t here; what would I have done? If you weren’t near; who'd I have become? Without you, dear; my life is a gun. Without you, I fear, my sorrow would've won.

Perhaps my pursuit of your friendship shrouded me in desperate shades, so I gave up, and invented lies, just to appease my bruised, infantile ego. I even tried to start a playground war, though your bicycle wheels were immune to my grenades. Even still, the truth remained, that your disinterest dealt the harshest blows.

If you weren’t here; what would I have done? If you weren’t near; who'd I have become? Without you, dear; my life is a gun. Without you, I fear, my sorrow would've won.

It wasn't until I grew some more, and fate reunited our airy spirits in fire.
Middle school solidified our bond,
and set the foundation for our lifelong alliance to transpire. We survived mutual losses hand in hand, and supported one another through life's many falls. Centuries from now, archaeologists will find, that you were painted on my ancient cavern walls, all along.

If you weren’t here; what would I have done? If you weren’t near; who'd I have become? Without you, dear; my life is a gun. Without you, I fear, my sorrow would've won.

To this day, I cannot pretend, there is anyone who has been a more genuine friend. You've outlasted all the rest, to come out on top; without you, my dear, I fear, I never would've grown at all. Through objectivity and tough love, you appeal to my understanding of myself and of the world. Gratitude pales in comparison, to all the ways you enrich my soul.

If you weren’t here; what would I have done? If you weren’t near; who'd I have become? Without you, dear; my life is a gun. Without you, I fear, my sorrow would've won.

Ultraviolet.

Paint without apologies on life's chaotic canvas, since there is no one else who can fulfill your purpose. Dance with the watercolour winds, just like the wolves did. Whose poison tongue convinced you 'solo' is synonymous with 'worthless'? 

Listen to that tiny voice within you, the same one that whispers softer than the stars. On the surface, all is calm and steady, but do not wake this resting jaguar. 

Poor are they whose pleasures depend on another's permission. When you already enchant audiences like the magician, why do you settle for being his assistant?

Let your art mirror the beauty of your smile, cut and paste each piece of you until you're perfect. Show them the strength in being an unmanned isle, let them wonder if their dependency issues are worth it. 

You are capable enough to conquer Gengis Khan or Alexander. While all these reds need blues just to become purple, you already entered this world vibrant and violet. Always remember that you were destined to be their commander, instead of following orders, like some complacent copilot.