Tag Archives: political poet

poems from prison

what about when you sweat

and then wash under

a clean faucet

until the very thought of you

is open wide bee hives

pores drip honey down her sides

 

what about when you cry

so many do yoga, but why

c this all the temple i have

move like this, i get to be bad

and pray into hips

finger tips had

sparks flying off, i swear

black curling hair

cartwheel colors of care

 

what about parvati

and how she dance

a writer flashing stories

a fighter blind with glory

but i am forever

and this body is not

find the beat

monarch all youve got

butterflies choke the air

sound of orange raindrops in her hair

*

 

so much to say, thanks for reading!  -rs

 

 

 

 

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on sound: oh etta & pumped up kicks

etta james’ funeral today in los angeles, rip to one of the greatest vessels of sound to ever live.  i just read a quality obit on etta james, click here to read it.  got me thinking of sound, and of cali.  etta’s sunday kind of love, ella’s midnight sun, pankaj udas’ deewaron ko milkar rona, incubus’ aqueous transmission, and foster the people’s pumped up kicks, are all on high rotation in my home.  pumped up kicks is just right, hip bouncing, high hoping, sparkle clear yet pleasantly blurry, cali style right.  this morning i went out to coney to face up to the sun.  and in between chapters of my studying, i’m gazing out over the glaze of light on the ocean, just thinking about songs, and sound.  finite sounds, finite scales, infinite songs within these bounds.  these days i’m shaking the sonic kaliedescope, sounding out the prism of my feelings, and glimpsing, like a fin cresting, through a lens full of color, the songs that come out of me.  thankful for the time to play.  here’s some of my high rotation these days. enjoy.

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international women’s day: i wish us courage

dear readers,

i swear, i used to love march in the bay area. international women’s day meant acting in loco bloco plays at the women’s building, meant butta and mango were extra hype, meant the empowering women of color conference, which i’ve helped to organize at uc berkeley.

and i still love international women’s day here in nyc. here, iwd meant crisp, near spring basketball at the essex street playground, meant focusing on my arc, my wrists, meant harlem and crossing guard conversations, meant arabic coffee and cinnamon tea, meant thumbing thru “our bodies, ourselves,” a women’s health book that my homeboy/girl is in. international women’s day in nyc meant a walk with her/him through central park, basketball dribbling the whole time, tracing our hopes and fears into edges of the jacqueline onassis lake in central park, bringing the sharp edges of highrises into rippled water relief, the cast down shadow of the horizon blessedly softened by every lake.

too many times today i heard the media talking/writing about rape, in honor of international women’s day. but those of us who’ve been there know that it’s an every day, every breath struggle. and maybe, just on this one day, it’s not our burden to hash it thru so singularly. we should talk about the public health epidemic known as rape more than on this day. and hell, i’ll risk it, it is carnaval, it is mardi gras, and women we deserve to celebrate, dance, move and shake. let’s talk about sexual violence on election day, at the board meetings, when the bell rings to signal both the stock markets open and the meditators to focus on our breath. then we can talk about those vampire souls, the ones who try as they might can never truly infiltrate you with their guilt, their lying and shallow grief. the perpetrators bear a sadness that would hollow out the space underneath our eyes, cause the muscles to pull back under the sheaths of our very organs, oh but victory is more than to talk. it is to feel. feel past the fear, past the vendetta. it is to hone. hone spiritually, physically, mentally. may we have the courage to speak up, and to feel. every minute of every day. engaged.

happy international womens day,
roopa

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